


Double Backflip-side

by detectivejigsaw



Series: Flipside AU [15]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: A visitor from another dimension, Angst, Bill Cipher is a Jerk, Brothers bonding, Danger, Ford Pines is a Jerk (at first), Gen, Importance of Family, Paranoid Ford Pines, References to portal, Summerween, Wibbly-Wobbly Timey-Wimey Stuff, bottomless pit, flipside AU, more tags as I think of them, portal ford, young Preston Northwest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 28,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24803338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivejigsaw/pseuds/detectivejigsaw
Summary: ...Maybe it wasn't the best idea in the world to drop that probe into the bottomless pit.On the other hand, it means that the Pineses' new guest is here, with them, instead of stuck out in the multiverse somewhere, and maybe by working together they'll be able to help him get back home in one piece.
Relationships: "Manly" Dan Corduroy & Pines Family, "Manly" Dan Corduroy/Wendy Corduroy's Mother, All other canon ships apply, Emma-May Dixon/Fiddleford H. McGucket, Fiddleford H. McGucket & Ford Pines, Ford Pines & Sherman "Shermie" Pines & Stan Pines, Ford Pines & Stan Pines
Series: Flipside AU [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587223
Comments: 408
Kudos: 169





	1. 1979: A Bottomless Pit Odyssey

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a suggestion by Luly903 and josephina_x; it's not exactly what they asked for, but I hope that they will enjoy it regardless.

It all started with the bottomless pit.

Fiddleford and Ford had both developed an interest in figuring out how it worked, and via extensive trips to and from the crash site (they had eventually opened the entrance with help from both Dan, and a really big magnet) to collect parts they had put together a probe, like something you’d send into space; they then dropped it into the pit to see what the journey was like. Even though it came back only a few seconds later, the video of its journey lasted for nearly twenty-one minutes-long enough to tell yourself several short stories, or for a group of people to tell short stories to each other. Had it been just Ford, or even just Ford and Fiddleford, odds are that they would have decided the next logical step was for one of them to jump in himself. However, they had Dan literally standing over them with an axe, so they decided to test it with more inanimate objects for the time being.

* * *

There was not really a visible pattern in what items came back or how long they were gone for, save for the fact that things like socks and bits of loose change always seemed to stay lost. And if something was gone for more than 24 hours, then it was unlikely to ever return.

“Maybe we should see if there’s any gnomes who want a chance to spend twenty-one minutes falling through constant nothingness,” Ford mused, chewing on his pen. “Or to be alternatively sent to an entirely different plane of existence, never to return.”

“...I’m sure you’ll have volunteers lining up around the block,” said Fiddleford dryly.

“Yeah, do you even hear yourself when ya say stuff like that?” Dan rumbled. “There’s a reason why a lotta people in town still think you’re some kinda mad scientist.”

“And/or insane wizard,” Fiddleford added. He and Dan both laughed; somehow getting into a drinking challenge together the night of Stan and Ford’s birthday had created a friendly bond between them which they mostly used to pretend that they were the next great comedic duo of the century.

Ford rolled his eyes at them, and decided to go ahead with the next experiment.

Their second probe was taking a while to come back, so Ford had decided to drop a new item in after it and see what happened: a chain made of pure silver and strung with moonstones, before being soaked in water from an enchanted spring and having a few charms cast on it. He wasn’t sure what exactly it would do, or if it would even do anything at all, but an object steeped in powerful magic like this had a high probability of creating  _ some _ kind of reaction. Ford couldn’t wait to see what.

It felt like there should have been something more dramatic to the act, but all he ended up doing was tossing the chain into the pit and watching it disappear into the darkness. Then he scooped up his journal and waited, pen poised eagerly.

The three of them stood there, watching and waiting, for a few minutes.

The chain didn’t come back.

They waited a little longer.

Nothing happened.

After about an hour of waiting Dan gave a bored sigh, and wandered off towards the house.

Ford’s sigh was more disappointed. “...That was more anticlimactic than I was expecting.”

Fiddleford patted his shoulder. “Maybe when the lunar eclipse happens on Saturday that’ll create somethin’ more interesting.”

“Maybe.” He gave a half-hearted shrug.

* * *

Ford decided to go back inside and work on some of his other experiments, or maybe play with Xander; the boy had shown an aptitude for Jenga that was very advanced for his age, and they had a running competition to see who could go the longest without knocking a tower down.

He was just turning away from the pit to do that, when there was a noise from behind him almost like a cough, and something cold and wet landed on his head with a loud  _ smack _ !

Ford whirled around with a yelp; he could feel whatever it was sliding through his curls, and into his shirt collar. He scrabbled at his neck, and pulled into his line of vision-

“...Snow?!”

He and Fiddleford looked at each other in shock. Sure enough, sitting in his hand was a rapidly melting clump of snow.

The bottomless pit emitted that coughing sound again, and more snow flew out, splatting on both men this time.

Ford spluttered, and stepped back, trying frantically to clean it off of his glasses.

The third time he was able to successfully dodge the fresh burst of snow, which was especially fortunate because it also produced a frozen solid squirrel that hit the ground with a hard cracking noise.

“Um...is it supposed ta do that?” Stan’s voice asked from behind them; evidently he’d finished his tours for the day, and come to see how their experiment was going.

“I think it’s a sign that we’ve made a connection with another dimension!” Ford’s voice went up an actual octave in his excitement. He rushed to the side of the pit, and peered into the blackness. “Take a note, F! The emissions of snow occur every ten point five seconds, which I think is about the time between pulses created by the probe! So any second now-”

He froze when, instead of a fresh burst of snow, he saw...something else.

A strange blue-white light had appeared, crackling with electricity and accompanied by a noise. A noise that started off sounding very far away, but that was coming rapidly closer...and more distinguishable as the sound of someone screaming. And as it did, a shadow appeared in the center of the vortex, and began rapidly rising upwards at a faster and faster rate-

Ford leaped aside just in time to avoid colliding with the figure that shot up out of the pit, and landed sprawling in the grass. Seconds later, the blue-white light vanished.

Fiddleford jumped back with an alarmed squeak, and barely managed to catch his glasses before they could slip off the end of his nose.

“What in tarnation-?!”

As they all recovered from the shock, Ford took a closer look...and realized that the figure was a man.

A tall, thin man in a long tan trench coat that looked a lot like Ford’s, lying face-first on the ground and moaning.

Ford glanced at Stan; Stan looked back at him, and then cautiously knelt down next to the man, and jabbed him in the shoulder.

“Hey. You okay, bud?”

The moaning stopped at once, and the figure froze-before lifting himself up on his hands and staring at Stan, mouth agape.

And now it was Ford’s turn to freeze.

Because that face was the same face he saw in the mirror every day, now that he’d gotten back in the habit of showering on a regular basis-only it was unshaven, with wild, bloodshot eyes which were missing their glasses, and the right one actually appeared to have a few flecks of dried blood around the bottom lid.

But it was definitely Ford; right down to his six-fingered hands.


	2. Topsy-turvy; everything is upsy-daisy

One moment Stanford had been sucked into his own portal, frantically calling out for his brother to help him, not knowing what was about to happen but sure that he was about to die, or worse, end up in Bill’s clutches.

The next moment he was rushing and tumbling through an endless dark void.

And the moment after that he found himself faceplanting in grass, hearing voices but not really able to process them.

For a few seconds all he could do was lie there and struggle to recover himself. This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening, his plan had ended before it could even begin and now he wasn’t even in his own dimension anymore, Bill was going to-

Something poked him in the shoulder.

“Hey. You okay, bud?”

That voice-

It wasn’t yelling angrily or screaming in pain or arguing in petty frustration, but it was as familiar to him as his own name.

Stanford pushed himself up despite how weak and tired his arms were; when he did, his suspicions were confirmed. Kneeling in front of him was Stanley.

But...a radically different Stanley from the one he’d just been fighting with. Even through his blurred vision, he could see that this one was cleaner, and looked like he was in far better physical health. His hair was cut short, and he-come to think of it, he kind of looked like some old pictures of their dad, because he was wearing a neat black suit with the Order of the Holy Mackerel fez, for some strange reason.

Stanford wondered if he’d gotten so sleep deprived he was having hallucinations again.

Stanley shifted backwards when their eyes met. “Whoa. I did not see that coming.”

“S-S-Stanley?”

Stanford scolded himself for how pathetic his voice sounded; he shouldn’t even be talking to him, he was probably some kind of grotesque creation conjured up by Bill to catch him off guard before he-

Before he-

He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Bill was about to do, but knowing his former muse it would be something unspeakably horrible.

Stanford finally remembered himself and scrambled to his feet. Or rather, _tried_ to scramble to his feet; as soon as he pulled himself up his vision went black and fuzzy around the edges, and he nearly went over backwards before warm hands grabbed his shoulders.

“Whoa! Easy,” the fake-Stanley said in a voice that sounded reassuring. There was a rustling, and suddenly his glasses appeared in front of his eyes. “Here, ya might wanna-”

Stanford snatched them and shoved them onto his face, before jerking back with a snarl.

“Where did you get those?!”

“...They were in your pocket.” Fake-Stanley was watching him with fake-concern, like if he tried acting like his real brother enough he wouldn’t-

“Uh, is this a doppelgänger of some kind, d’ya think?”

Ford felt a fresh cold chill enter his heart. He peered over fake (?) Stanley’s shoulder...and saw another familiar face.

It was Fiddleford, again looking far different from the nervous wreck he had last seen him as; he was holding a clipboard against his chest, and for some reason there appeared to be snow in his hair and on his shoulder, even though it was a sunny summer day.

There really were no limits to Bill’s depravity, were there? He’d created cheap imitations of his brother and his friend, and any second now they would show their true colors-he wished he had his crossbow-

“Doppelgängers aren’t usually this substantial. Besides, I’m pretty sure that if he was, he’d go through more trouble to look like my exact appearance at the moment.”

And Stanford finally set his eyes on the third person in this little group.

It was all he could do not to lose consciousness altogether, as he realized that this might not be a fabrication of Bill after all.

The other Ford-neatly dressed and well rested, the lucky son of a gun-settled on his haunches, peering at him intently through very familiar, normal-looking brown eyes. The others’ eyes were the right color too, he realized as he stared back at them; no yellow coloring, pupils the right size and shape.

“Remarkable…” he whispered in Stanford’s voice, which sounded weird to him when it wasn’t coming out of his own mouth. “We should probably try to avoid making physical contact; I’ve read a few science fiction novels where people from separate dimensions will actually disintegrate if they touch.”

Other-Stanley snorted. “ _That’s_ your criteria?”

“I don’t want to take the risk,” Other-Stanford retorted; Other-Stanley gave a familiar, “if you say so” sigh/eyeroll combo but didn’t argue the point. He just looked back at Stanford with that concern again. “Geez, you don’t look so good. When’s the last time you slept?”

Stanford tried and failed to stand up again, his limbs trembling with weakness. “I can’t sleep,” he said automatically. “It’s not safe.”

Other-Stanley and Other-Stanford looked at each other; something about the way they did it created an oddly clenching sensation in Stanford’s chest.

“...Why not?” asked Other-Stanford.

Stanford considered his options. The last time he’d tried to ask for help, it had ended in disaster, as exhibited by the fact that he was here. On the other hand, he needed _some_ kind of help, he couldn’t go on like this for much longer, and maybe since there was another Ford here, he would be willing to listen to reason and help him figure out a way to destroy Bill.

On the _other_ other hand, there was a much simpler solution waiting right behind him.

Stanford let himself fall backwards into the bottomless pit from whence he’d come.

* * *

...Twenty-one minutes later, he came flying back up and landed face-first on the grass again. This time he didn’t have the strength needed to pull himself up.

“Have a good trip?” Other-Stanley asked dryly. He helped Stanford to his feet and started guiding him over to a golf cart that was sitting nearby for some reason, giving Other-Stanford a look. “Looks like whatever was making the connection’s stopped working. I think we’d better take him home and let him rest for a bit before ya try and figure out howta get him back.”

 _The portal_ , Stanford thought dazedly. _Somehow it brought me here instead of to the Nightmare Realm like it was supposed to, and then it closed._

All that he could manage was a slurred mutter of “Portal…”

“What was that?” Other-Stanford stepped over to them, still at a relatively-safe distance but within better earshot, eyes bright. “You built a portal?”

Stanford nodded. He pinched himself to stay awake, and forced himself to focus. The fact that he was going to have this conversation with a version of Stanley nearby was less than ideal, but his options were kind of limited at the moment. He had to explain things now-unless this version was just as foolish as he had been, but hadn’t yet realized the extent of his folly. But then why was Other-Stanley here? Had he built a portal? Why was it a different time of year, unless the portal had somehow moved him through time as well as space-

There were too many questions. His head was pounding too much for him to think straight. He didn’t resist as he was set in the back of the cart; Other-Stanley sat down next to him, and the other-him got in the front, drove towards the other-house, while Other-Fiddleford said something about staying by the pit and seeing if their probe was going to come back up.

Stanford forced himself to stay awake.

When they stopped, Other-Stanford left first, and headed inside.

Other-Stanley waited until he was at the door, and then came around to help Stanford out of the cart.

He knew he shouldn’t, especially after _everything_ , but he found himself leaning against Other-Stanley, clenching his shoulder for support as they made their way inside. As they did, he heard a strangely familiar voice booming from somewhere in the house, “Okay, what didya get yourselves into this time?”

They stepped into the kitchen, and Stanford blinked in bewilderment at the sight of “Boyish” Dan Corduroy standing there, filling up a stewpot with water at the sink.

“Why do you always assume-” Other-Stanford began.

“Cuz I know you; whenever ya have _that_ look it means something’s-WHOA!”

Corduroy had just caught sight of him and Other-Stanley as they stepped into the room; before Stanford knew what was happening, the lumberjack had grabbed the stewpot, and hurled its contents at him.

Seconds later both he and Other-Stanley were completely drenched.

...On the bright side, the shock of both the action and the cold water was enough to send a fresh burst of wakefulness into Stanford’s sluggish brain.

Other-Stanley spluttered a little, and spat out a mouthful of water.

“He’s not a clone, Dan. He’s from another dimension.”

Corduroy lowered the stewpot. “Oh. Sorry.” He glared at Stanford. “So what do we needa do with him?”

“He and Ford can’t touch, cuz that might make ‘em disintegrate,” Other-Stanley said casually, even as he squelched over to the table and helped Stanford sit down. “And Fidds is tryna figure out if we can use the bottomless pit ta send him back where he came from.”

“Gotcha.” Without warning, Corduroy picked up Other-Stanford by the back of his shirt, like he was a kitten being lifted by the scruff of his neck, and walked with him to the other end of the room.

“Dan!” Other-Stanford choked out, “Can’t-breathe!”

Corduroy used his other hand to unbutton the top button of Other-Stanford’s shirt so it wasn’t digging into his throat, and made no move to set him down. Other-Stanford gave a resigned sigh, and just let his feet dangle.

Stanford felt the shock from the water starting to wear off; his head lolled, and his eyes started to flicker shut of their own free will. Panicked, he forced them open again.

“Okay,” Other-Stanley said, “you _need_ to sleep. You and Ford-” he looked back and forth between the two versions of his brother- “yeesh, that’s gonna get confusing fast. But anyway, it’ll probably be easier for you ta put your heads together and figure out howta get ya back home after you get some sleep.”

“NO!” Stanford exploded. “I can not, under any circumstances, be allowed to sleep! That’ll let him-”

He stopped himself too late; three pairs of eyes were instantly on him.

“...Someone is doing something to you while you sleep?” Other-Stanford asked, his tone slow and careful.

Stanford hesitated...but nodded.

Other-Stanley and Other-Stanford looked at each other; another unspoken conversation passed between them that caused that odd feeling in his chest again.

Other-Stanley turned back to him, and asked slowly, “...This someone wouldn’t happen ta be a little yellow jerk with a top hat, would he?”

Stanford felt his stomach plummet. He knew about-how did-

“Yeah, I’m gonna take that as a yes.” Other-Stanley groaned.

Corduroy growled, sounding almost exactly like an enraged grizzly bear. “If that means who I think it does…”

“Calm down, Dan,” Other-Stanford admonished. “We just need to warn everyone not to make any deals with him, or trust anyone with yellow eyes.”

The lumberjack did not appear appeased.

“So he possesses you while you’re sleeping?” Other-Stanley asked.

It took Stanford a moment to realize the question had been directed at him; he nodded again.

“Well, I hate ta break it to ya, but I think you’re gonna crash sooner or later, so we should find a way ta just limit the damage. Maybe we could tie you up or somethin’ so he can’t use you ta do anything?”

It was a comparatively logical solution, surprising since it was coming from Stanley. He managed to nod. “The only other solution would be creating a protective barrier around the house...but that’s kind of impossible.”

“Why?”

Stanford grimaced. “There’s one ingredient I doubt anyone here will be able to obtain.”

They were still looking at him expectantly, so without thinking about it much he admitted, “It requires...unicorn hair.”

Other-Stanley and Other-Stanford looked at each other again.

Then they looked back at Stanford.

Other-Stanley asked, “Okay, so what’s the hard part?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Stanford, you're gonna have to get used to a few differences from the world you're used to.
> 
> I had way too much fun messing with him in this chapter. I admit it.


	3. Forewarned is forearmed.  ...Right?

Other-Ford looked even more shell shocked than before when Stan got one of the barrels of unicorn hair out of the basement. He rallied enough to say what else they needed-quicksilver and moonstones, both of which were produced in record time-and then insisted on helping with the actual spell; but then as he and Stan (Dan wouldn’t let Ford leave the house) set up the weird voodoo spell thing, he kept glancing at Stan out of the corner of his eye with an expression of dull bewilderment.

While they did this, Fiddleford came back and reported that neither the probe nor the chain had come back up; he seemed a little unnerved by the way Other-Ford kept staring at him like he was about to drop dead right in front of them, and went inside as quickly as possible.

As the last piece of unicorn hair was glued into place, a glowing purple dome covered in weird symbols briefly appeared surrounding the house, and then faded out of sight.

Stan whistled. “Neat. Anything else we need ta do?”

Other-Ford blinked. “Uh-no. No, that should be sufficient. For keeping Bill out of our minds, at least-”

“Good.” Stan took his arm, and tugged him towards the house. “Time for you ta go beddy-bye.”

“Don’t patronize me, Stanley.”

The peevish tone finally made him sound a little more like himself-or rather, a little more like Ford. Which was technically the same thing, but at the same time not, or-

Stan realized he was going to have to figure out what to call this guy.

“You mind sleeping in the basement?” he asked as they went inside. “The house is kinda crowded right now, and we got a cot set up-”

Other-Ford immediately turned white, making Stan afraid that he was going to full-on pass out. “Is there somewhere else?” His voice grew incredibly tight.

“Uh...there’s a spare room over by the living room, but all it’s got is a couch-”

“I know the one you mean. That’s fine.”

Stan decided it wasn’t worth arguing about. He just led Other-Ford upstairs, with a brief stop at his original brother’s room to grab some pajamas and underthings, and dropped him off at the bathroom to get cleaned up (he needed it; his clothes reeked even more than normal Ford’s-forgotten-how-to-shower-for-a-while levels).

“Let us know if ya need anything else, yeah?” He started to turn away-and stopped, puzzled, when he saw out of the corner of his eye that Other-Ford was staring at him. More specifically, at his right shoulder.

“...What? Have I got somethin’ on my back?”

The innocent question for some reason sent a full-out tremble running through his brother from another mother’s body.

“No,” he whispered in a hoarse tone. “You don’t.”

And abruptly he disappeared into the bathroom; a few seconds later Stan heard the shower running.

He dropped off a pillow and a couple of blankets in the spare room, and then went back to the kitchen, where he found that Fiddleford had joined the others and was sitting at the table with a soda and some blueprints he was working on.

“...He’s in the shower. I don’t think we needa worry about anyone gettin’ disintegrated.”

Dan made no attempt to put Ford down. “Knowing you three, you’d find a way.”

Ford sighed, and began, in a tone indicating that this wasn’t the first time he’d tried to have this conversation, “Dan, plea-”

“NO. Not until he’s asleep.”

Ford sighed again, and stared thoughtfully at the wall. “I’ll have to create some kind of proximity shields for both of us...because odds are he’s going to be here for some time…” He began muttering to himself.

About twenty minutes later they heard Other-Ford come back downstairs, and shuffle unsteadily into the spare room. After the door shut behind him, Dan dropped Ford, who somehow managed to gain his footing without too much trouble.

He adjusted his glasses, and said, “I think we need to call a meeting for everyone.”

* * *

When Shermie and the others came back from their day trip to town (Rebecca and Emma-May had been checking out childrens’ clothes at the mall, and Shermie had taken Xander to the arcade), they were herded into the living room. Dan had brought Matilda over already, so the gang was all there.

Ford swallowed nervously when he stepped up in front of everyone.

“I’m afraid we have some not-so-good news.”

Shermie’s brow furrowed, and he leaned forward in his seat. The others exhibited similar expressions of concern.

Ford tried to ignore the churning of his stomach. “...Earlier today, a version of me from another dimension crossed over into our world. He is currently asleep in our spare room.”

There was a chorus of blinks. Then Xander asked, “Can we go see him?”

“Xander!” Rebecca scolded.

“What? I wanna see him!”

“I don’t think he wants to be disturbed right now,” Ford said quickly, “and we have a bigger issue.” He snatched up a paper, and held it up. “This.”

Matilda tilted her head. “An advertisement for Greasy’s Diner?”

“...Wrong side, sorry.” Ford flipped the paper around to the side that he’d drawn a picture of Bill on.

He explained about his and Stan’s encounter with Bill during the previous year.

“We don’t know a lot about him, or about what he wants with us, but we do know that he is dangerous, and there seem to be few levels he wouldn’t stoop to in order to achieve his goals. We created a protective barrier around the house that will apparently prevent his being able to enter our dreams while we’re inside, but there are still some rules that everyone needs to follow. If you meet anyone whose eyes seem a little...off, such as reflecting an odd yellow light, or if the pupils are slitted like a cat’s, then that means he’s possessing them, and you need to get away as soon as possible. And if you have any dreams about him, or about anyone who’s trying to persuade you to do something, or who wants to make a deal of some kind, that’s also most likely Bill. Whatever you do, do not take his hand, or agree to anything he asks you to do.” Ford looked at the group uncertainly. “Any questions?”

Dan straightened. “Ya think ya could put up that barrier around my and Matt’s houses too?”

“We have all the materials, so I believe so, yes.”

“Good.” Dan cracked his knuckles; as much as he would probably love to get a crack at the triangle, he also was not eager to give him any chances to get in his head again.

Ford looked nervously at Shermie and Fiddleford.

“I understand completely if you want to take your families as far away as possible-”

“Ford, if you think we’re going to abandon you guys to deal with this alone you’re even dumber than you look.”

Surprisingly, it was Rebecca, of all people, who spoke. Ford stared at her, dumbfounded.

“But-”

“He might be able to get at us whether we’re here or not, so we might as well stay and help you out. Safety in numbers, right?”

Fiddleford nodded. “That goes fer us too. Besides, you’re gonna need me here ta help with figgerin’ out a new probe thingamajig if the old one doesn’t come back.”

Ford wasn’t sure that he’d ever done anything to deserve family and friends like these. It was kind of a corny sentiment, but no less true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's not like they know that Bill can't reach past the town's borders.


	4. Stanford is bombarded by culture shock, and small children

The next time Stanford opened his eyes, for a moment he just lay where he was in a kind of peaceful, drowsy haze.

Then he realized that the reason why he was feeling so comparatively peaceful was that he’d fallen asleep, and he lurched upright with a horrified gasp.

Where was he-what had happened while he was sleeping-anything could have-

The electron carpet room?! What was he doing in here, what had Bill-

Wait. The carpet was gone. Why, of all things, would Bill take his body-switching carpet? Could he somehow use it to gain sole control of someone else’s body, or-

Then the answers flooded back to him.

He wasn’t in his own house. Or rather, he was, but it was a version from another dimension. Because he’d fallen-been _pushed_ -into his own portal.

Right.

Stanford’s head was starting to spin, so he lay back down on the sofa and stared at the ceiling, letting his arm dangle over the side.

He was in a different universe where the other version of him apparently had no trouble getting access to unicorn hair, and didn’t seem to have been taken in by Bill, and had both Fiddleford and Stanley-

Stanford closed his eyes with a small groan. The inside of his skull felt like someone was tapping on it with a hammer, and part of him was tempted to just go back to sleep.

But he had to find out if they had a portal, or if-

As wishful as the thinking was, if they had a way of getting him home.

Stanford sat up more slowly this time, running a hand through his hair. Blinking a few times did nothing to get rid of the feeling that his head was stuffed with cotton, so he tried massaging his temples for a few seconds.

_Coffee, maybe?_

_Yes. Need coffee. Painkillers and coffee. That sounds perfect right now._

With a herculean effort he got up, and staggered to the door.

He barely remembered to be careful when stepping out of the room, in case Other-Stanford was right outside (unlikely, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious).

He wasn’t.

Stanford shuffled down to the kitchen, and peered inside.

Other-Stanford wasn’t there, either. In fact, the only one there was Other-Fidd-

Oh, screw it, he was probably going to be here for a while, just call him Fiddleford.

Fiddleford was there, stirring a pot of something on the stove, with a little red bundle in the crook of the arm that wasn’t being used for stirring.

He looked over his shoulder when Stanford came in, and smiled. “Oh, howdy. Feelin’ any better?”

Stanford answered with a question: “How long have I been asleep?”

Fiddleford looked up at the clock. “It was about ten when you got here, so…” he whistled. “Nigh on fourteen hours. You musta been through the wringer ta make you that tuckered out.”

“...Do you have any coffee?”

Fiddleford snorted with laughter. “There’s one thing you and this Ford have in common.” He set aside the spoon, and stepped over to him, inspecting with familiar, critical eyes.

“Sorry, but I think you’re gonna need somethin’ a little more substantial before we let you have coffee. Besides, I don’t even know where it is-Stanley’s been hiding it after a certain time o’ day cuz of somethin’ Ford did with a copy machine.”

Stanford actually growled. Even when he wasn’t doing it directly to him, Stan _still_ found ways to ruin his life.

There was a gurgling sound, and his eyes inadvertently followed the source of it. To his surprise, he realized that the red bundle was actually a baby wearing a bright red onesie.

The child was very chubby, which as far as Stanford knew was standard procedure for infants, and with a nose that size he had to be Fiddleford’s. He already had a thick mop of brown hair hanging in his eyes, and a mostly toothless mouth with a ribbon of drool dripping onto his father’s sleeve.

Fiddleford smiled when he saw where Stanford’s attention had been directed. “Em’s takin’ a nap cuz he was up late last night, so I’m lookin’ after him for a little while.”

“...Is that…” Stanford struggled to remember the name, “...Tate?”

“Yup.”

_Wait…_

_I’m fairly certain he was older than that in my dimension...maybe three? Five?_

“...What year is it, Fiddleford?”

Fiddleford looked confused. “Why?”

“Just tell me. Please.”

“1979. It’s almost Summerween.”

It took Stanford a confused second to realize that he was talking about that extra holiday the townsfolk of Gravity Falls had come up with, and which had meant that he’d occasionally had children come to his house to try and get a peek at the “mad scientist”; during happier times he’d sometimes pulled a few harmless pranks to scare them off, but lately that had lost all importance compared to the portal, before he’d finally learned the extent of his folly-

_That’s not the important thing right now! Focus!_

“It was 1982 where I was.” The words came out in a hollow whisper.

Fiddleford whistled. “So you didn’t just travel through dimensions, you also moved through _time_? I’m gonna haveta do a few more calculations for the next probe.”

Before he could answer, there was a hissing noise from the stove, and they both saw that the pot was boiling over.

With a horrified gasp Fiddleford said, “Hold Tate fer a second, wouldya?”

“Wait-no-”

The baby was already being placed in his arms, and then Fiddleford was at the stove so fast he seemed to have teleported.

Stanford stared at the baby.

The baby... _probably_ stared back, but it was kind of hard to tell with all that hair hanging in his face.

Gingerly Stanford turned the baby around and held him the way Fiddleford had been doing: resting against his chest, with one of Stanford’s arms around his middle, letting his legs dangle at his stomach. He felt a dampness seeping into his sleeve, but just sighed and, remembering the few occasions he’d held his little nephew, jiggled him up and down a few times. The baby’s tiny hands smacked against his arm, and he let out a few gurgles that sounded pleased.

After Fiddleford moved the pot from the stove, he came back and retrieved his son.

“Thanks. Sorry about that.”

“It’s...fine.”

Fiddleford abruptly smiled a little. “He likes you. He didn’t fuss at all.”

Stanford wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he just sat back down at the table.

“Just one more second.” Before he knew what was happening a bowlful of the stuff Fiddleford had been cooking, which turned out to be some soup, was set in front of him, followed up with a glass of water. “Try gettin’ some o’ that in ya.”

It wasn’t coffee, like he wanted...but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually eaten. And it smelled somewhat appetizing.

Stanford picked up the spoon Fiddleford set down next to his hand, and took a small mouthful of broth.

It was warm, and kind of creamy, and felt good going down his throat, and before he knew it he’d emptied a third of the bowl. He paused to drink some water, and then finally remembered a significant question that he really should have thought of sooner.

“Where is...everyone else?”

“Well, like I said, Emma-May’s takin’ a nap. Dan and Matilda have been watchin’ Xander, and everyone else’s helpin’ out with buildin’ a new probe except for Ford-the other Ford. He’s in the basement.”

Stanford felt a chill rush down his spine. “Basement?! What’s he doing in the basement?!”

Fiddleford turned away from where he was pouring out another bowl of soup, looking at him with concern. “Just workin’ on a little project-”

Stanford was halfway out of the kitchen before he could finish his sentence.

_No no no no no no NO-_

He lurched into the right room, found the door-there was nothing even concealing it, did this other him have _no_ concern about being found out whatsoever-

Charged down the stairs, ready to put a stop to-

To-

To the Other-Stanford sitting at a table with what looked like the cannibalized pieces of several different mechanical devices together, and no portal in sight.

* * *

The two Stanfords stared at each other for a minute...before the one on the stairs sagged against the banister with a sigh.

“Um...is something wrong?” Other-Stanford asked. He took a step forward, before apparently remembering that it was unsafe.

Stanford laughed bitterly. “Besides the obvious?”

“Yes. You came down looking like the house was on fire.”

“It’s not.”

“...That’s good, but it’s not an explanation.”

“I thought-”

_That you were secretly in cahoots with Bill and were working on a portal with him even though you seem as wary of him as everyone else._

It sounded stupid now that he was actually thinking about it.

Other-Stanford gave him a concerned look, but before either of them could say anything Fiddleford came thumping down the stairs, trying to balance Tate in the crook of his arm.

“St-Stanf-what-what the hey-”

Stanford straightened himself and smoothed back his hair. “I apologize. I-there was a small misunderstanding. But it has been cleared up.”

And he abruptly turned, gathering together the shredded remains of his dignity, and made his way back upstairs.

Stanford leaned against the wall for a second, trying to calm himself-and nearly jumped out of his skin when a young voice down by his legs said, “Hi! Are you my other Uncle Ford?”

After a second spent trying to get his racing heart under control, Stanford looked down into a small, eager-looking, freckled face surrounded by thick brown curls.

_...Xander. Fiddleford mentioned that he was here._

_The other me has Shermie’s family here?! What is he thinking?!_

He realized he still hadn’t answered the child’s question. “...Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Cool!” Xander grinned, showing off a gap between his teeth, and held up his little hand. “High six!”

_Don’t leave me hanging! ...High six?_

When all he received was a gaping stare, Xander leaned in and tapped his palm against Stanford’s anyway. Then he took the hand, and pulled him back towards the kitchen.

“You oughta finish your soup afore it gets cold.”

“...Before,” Stanford corrected on impulse, even as he passively allowed himself to be towed.

Xander giggled. “You’re another Uncle Ford, all right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also admit to being soft for the mental image of Fiddleford being a good dad. And, frankly, a good husband, since he's taking care of the baby while his wife sleeps.


	5. The naming and character of Fords

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Summerween, everybody!

“...What the devil, Fiddleford?” Ford demanded after his other self went upstairs.

Fiddleford winced at the phrase, but for once he didn’t scold him for it. “I dunno. I just mentioned that you were in the basement workin’ on a project, and he immediately scrapdoodled down here. I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess it’s somethin’ ta do with Bill and the portal.”

Ford grimaced. “You’re probably right.”

“There’s somethin’ else, Stanford.” Fiddleford adjusted his son in his arms. “He told me that in his dimension, it was 1982. I dunno how much that affects things, but it’s somethin’ ta remember.”

Ford’s eyes widened. “He traveled through  _ time _ as well as dimensions?!”

“That’s literally what my reaction was.”

For a moment Ford wondered if this somehow meant that the other him was actually from  _ his _ future...but dismissed it on the grounds that he couldn’t see himself being foolish enough to fall for Bill’s lies again. Knock on wood.

Still...

“This means that if we don’t calculate things as precisely as possible...accounting for temporal consistency and interdimensional boundaries...we don’t want to risk sending him back at the wrong time…”

He lost himself in thought for a moment, scrawling calculations in his journal.

“Uh, Stanford…”

“Not now, I’m trying to think.”

“Stanford-”

“If we can use a probe to calculate the correct temporal signature-”

“STANFORD, I think it might be a good idea ta include the other you in this discussion!”

Ford blinked.

Fiddleford gave him a stern look.

“You’ll probably be a lot more successful with figgerin’ this out if the two o’ you put your heads together-though not literally, of course. I know the idea of workin’ with someone else can be a little bit of a foreign concept for you, but if he’s built a portal, then anything he can tell you about it will probably help with gettin’ him home.” He paused in thought. “Although, the fact that it’s two of you bein’ expected ta work together could be a bit of a problem-”

“Hey, I know how to work with other people!”

“...You’re better at it than you used ta be, I’ll give ya that.” Fiddleford removed his tie from between Tate’s gums without even needing to look down. “But have ya ever tried working with  _ you _ ?”

Ford bristled a little. “It shouldn’t be  _ that _ hard. We’re both going to be working towards the same goal: getting him home without allowing Bill to have access to either of our dimensions. I think you’re overreacting a little. I’m a reasonable person-sorry, were you about to say something?”

Fiddleford finished coughing into his hand. “Nope, not a thing.” And before Ford could demand that he explain himself he hurried up the stairs, saying something about checking up on Emma-May to see if she’d gotten up yet.

...Ford wasn’t sure if he appreciated the implications.

* * *

Stan came in for a late lunch, and was surprised to see Other-Ford sitting at the kitchen table with Xander; the little boy was chattering happily away about something to do with dragons, and holding up a spoon, which he was “flying” back and forth in the air and making occasional roaring sounds. Other-Ford was leaning on his hand as he watched him; he still looked pretty tired and baggy-eyed, but he also seemed a little more relaxed than he was when he first came here. He was even smiling a little at the boy’s antics.

Stan went to the stove and poured out two bowls of soup-one for him and one for his Ford. He then grabbed a package of saltine crackers from the cupboard for good measure. As he turned around, he saw that Other-Ford was looking at him...and he was no longer smiling.

In fact, his expression was bringing back uncomfortable memories of a pair of curtains being about to flicker shut right in front of it.

_...Gonna guess things aren’t great between him and his Stan. Maybe he couldn’t get him ta see that Bill was bad news. _

Stan resolutely approached the table with his bowl, setting it down across from the other two.

“Hi, Uncle Stan!” Xander greeted him. “I was tellin’ Other-Uncle Ford about how I’m hopin’ there’s dragons somewhere in the mountains, and that they’re like the one in  _ The Hobbit _ so I can steal some o’ their treasure!”

“As long as you can think of a way ta do it without gettin’ burned alive afterwards, I’ll be happy ta help,” Stan reassured him.

Other-Ford made a scoffing noise in the back of his throat which he chose to ignore. He just turned with the other bowl of soup, ready to take it down to the basement-but the action turned out to be unnecessary, because here his brother was now, carefully moving around to avoid any potential contact with his counterpart.

Stan pushed the bowl into his hands. “Here ya go.”

Ford jumped a little, but he accepted it with a smile. “Thanks.” He sipped straight from the bowl until Stan pushed a spoon into his hand, and then leaned against the counter. “Um-Stanford?”

Other-Ford looked at him.

“I, uh-I understand that you’re not just from a different dimension, but also a few years in the future.”

“Whoa, what?” Stan looked between them in amazement. “Really?”

Of course, now that he was looking for them maybe there were a few signs that Other-Ford was a little older; a few extra crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes, a few extra lines in his face. Or maybe he just looked more world-weary than his Ford, and that made him seem older.

Other-Ford nodded without looking at Stan. “I was in early winter of 1982 when I...left my dimension.”

“Well hey,” Stan realized, “guess this means I know what ta call ya now.”

The others gave him confused looks.

“Ford Prime.”

“Why is  _ he _ prime?” Ford asked, looking injured.

“Cuz he’s older.”

“It makes him sound like he’s superior to me or something.”

“Eh, you can just call him FP for short if that makes ya feel better.”

Ford Prime looked less than thrilled at the idea of being called ‘FP.’

“Well, regardless, would you mind telling us about what happened between you and Bill, and the portal? That might help us with figuring out how to get you home.”

Ford Prime looked honestly surprised at the suggestion that they intended to send him home; then he glanced at Xander, with the implication that he didn’t want to discuss this in front of a child.

“It’s okay, Uncle FP,” Xander chirped, “Uncle Ford told us about the evil triangle yesterday. I know not ta shake his hand or trust anyone with creepy yellow eyes.”

Ford Prime blinked. “You told  _ him _ about Bill?”

“We told Shermie and Rebecca too. It was the safest way to protect them from him.”

Ford Prime still looked uncomfortable. “It’s not...a pleasant story for children.”

Xander showed no intention of leaving; Stan liked the kid’s moxie.

At last Ford Prime gave a resigned sigh, and began telling them his story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And today's award for best deadpan snarking goes to...  
> *Drumroll*  
> Fiddleford Hadron McGucket!!!!!  
> Fiddleford, bashful: "Thank you, thank you!" *Bows* "I really don't deserve such an honor-"  
> Ford, unamused: "Yes you do."


	6. A prime explanation

Ideally Ford Prime, as he had resigned himself to being called for the time being, would be having this conversation with just his alternate self. But since Stanley and Xander showed no signs of leaving the room, and it really was imperative that he work together with his other self on this, he began his story.

“...I first encountered Bill in a dream, after I summoned him into my dimension by reading an incantation that I discovered in a cave.”

Both Other-Stanford and Stanley grimaced at the mention of the cave, but said nothing.

“He told me that he was a muse who would help me with the answers I was seeking about Gravity Falls, why it attracted so many strange creatures, by providing me with insights and a general helping hand. And eventually he suggested that these answers could be found by creating a gateway to another world-a portal.”

“And you believed him.”

It was a statement of fact, rather than an accusation, but Ford Prime felt himself bristling anyway. “He drew me in with his flattery and games, and promises of being renowned worldwide for this project.”

“What did he promise to get you to let him into your mind?” Other-Stanford asked quietly.

“...I was having trouble keeping to the schedule that he insisted the work needed to be completed in, so he suggested that I allow him to use my body to complete calculations and algorithms while I slept.”

Stan snorted. “That sounds like something you’d do, all right.”

Ford Prime saw red for a minute, and only felt a little vindicated when Other-Stanford elbowed him in the ribs and gave him a scolding “not the time” look.

“So, how’d ya figure out he was a bad guy?” Xander asked.

Ford Prime jumped at the reminder that this version of his nephew was there, and looking up at him with bright curiosity in his brown eyes.

“...There was an accident when Fiddleford and I tested the portal.”

_ Fiddleford’s horrified scream as he went tumbling through the air; interposed with the memory of his own terror when the same thing happened to him- _

Ford Prime gritted his teeth against the memories, forced himself to keep talking.

“He got partially sucked into it, and saw something terrible on the other side. I-”  _ eventually, after spending a few days stewing in anger and denial- _ “confronted Bill about it, and he admitted that he was using me to get into our world. And that if that happened, the consequences would be...dire.”

“He called it Weirdma-something,” Stan interrupted.

“Weirdmageddon.”

“Yeah, that noise.”

“After that, I searched for a way to stop Cipher-”

“Who’s Cipher?” Stan interrupted again.

“...Bill. It’s his last name.” Really, he felt that it should have been obvious who he was talking about.

Stan made a disbelieving face. “His name is  _ Bill Cipher _ ? Am I the only one who thinks that sounds kinda hinky?”

Xander giggled into his hands. Then, looking a little confused, he asked, “What’s hinky mean?”

“Weird even by our standards.”

“Oh.” He giggled again.

Technically the original definition of the word was more along the lines of “suspicious,” “sketchy,” or “unreliable”; however, those were all terms that could accurately be used to describe Bill as well, so Ford Prime decided maybe it wasn’t worth the attempt at correction. “If I may continue?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Stan absorbed himself with stuffing his face with soup-dipped crackers.

“I searched for a way to stop Bill from coming into my dimension. I hid my journals, where I had placed the instructions for how to work the portal-”

“Why didn’t ya just destroy the journals?” Stan stopped eating in order to interrupt,  _ yet again _ .

“Or better yet, just destroy the instructions?” Other-Stanford added.

The first question brought back horrible images of the first journal being held over a lighter, and a vindictive gravelly snarl. But the second...was a genuinely feasible argument. If he’d done that, he could have still held on to the rest of his research for future reference, and not needed to worry about someone eventually finding and using the instructions for the portal anyway…

Honestly, the only real excuses he had for not just doing that were exhaustion clouding his ability to think straight, and a desire not to see his life’s work destroyed that in hindsight was built from the same kind of narrow-minded arrogance that had landed him in this mess in the first place.

All Ford Prime said was, “I had my reasons,” and continued.

“Unfortunately, another accident occurred that resulted in my being sent through the portal.”

_ You care more about your dumb mysteries than your family? Well then you can HAVE them! _

Ford Prime realized that he was bending his spoon between his fingers, and quickly set it down. “I fully expected to be sent straight to the Nightmare Realm Bill comes from; that’s where the coordinates were set to.” To wind up here instead...while still less than ideal, arguably it was a welcome relief.

“I imagine that was changed by the experiments we were doing on the bottomless pit,” Other-Stanford said, putting a hand to his chin. “It seems to be an occasional entryway into another dimension, since certain items that are thrown into it never return. Fiddleford and I were experimenting on it yesterday with a probe we created that never returned, and we think that somehow opened up a connection between our dimension and yours.”

Ford Prime nodded, wearing a similar thoughtful expression. “A reasonable enough supposition. If the probe opened a conduit between the dimensions somehow, and created a bypass that sent me here instead of to the Nightmare Realm as intended-”

“Ugh,” Stan groaned dramatically, “now we gotta listen ta  _ twice _ the amount o’ nerd babble around here…”

“Technically, Stanley, it’s  _ three times _ the normal amount, since Fiddleford’s here too,” Other-Stanford said with a smug smile.

Stan let out a long, prolonged groan that turned into a bit of a laugh at the end, which turned into both of them laughing.

Some kind of odd, burning sensation in Ford Prime’s chest made him set down his glass of water with a hard  _ clump _ ; everyone else in the kitchen startled and turned their eyes on him.

“...Did you throw anything else into the pit besides the probe?”

Other-Stanford composed himself. “Yes-a chain of pure silver, decorated with moonstones and with several incantations placed on it. I don’t know how much of an impact that had, but it’s definitely not something that should be overlooked.”

“Indeed. I’ll have to take a look at any information you can give me. Fiddleford said you’re constructing a second probe?”

“Using the same blueprints as last time,” Other-Stanford said with a nod. “And the same materials. Most of them come from Crash Site Omega.”

Again, Ford Prime felt a slight sense of disorientation; this other him had found the same crash site as he had, but he was using its materials for far different purposes, and seemed to have no problem with casually mentioning it. It was like he had no sense of secrecy whatsoever. Then again, from the sound of things he hadn’t had Bill living in his head for the last few years…

* * *

“What was your experience with Bill?” he asked out of curiosity. Obviously the other him must have summoned him, it was unlikely for him to have visited this dimension otherwise, but then how had he avoided being duped?

Other-Stanford and Stan looked at each other. Stan spoke first.

“We found the same cave painting you probably did. But after summoning him, we realized he was trouble, and got him ta leave.”

_ We? _

“How did you do that?”

For some reason the two younger men both looked uncomfortable all of a sudden. At last Stan said, “...We just kinda made him see that he couldn’t trick or force us inta doin’ his bidding, and he gave up.”

...That didn’t sound like Bill. Or at least, Ford Prime was sure that there had to be more to the story. They (or Other-Stanford, more likely) had to have done something  _ extreme _ if it got Bill to decide this dimension was more trouble to take over than it was worth. But if they were that uncomfortable with discussing it (he wondered if it was because Xander was there), perhaps explanations could wait for another time.

He stood up. “I’d like to come see what work has been done so far on the probe, if you don’t mind.”

Other-Stanford tilted his head to one side. “Um...you might want to get changed first.”

Ford Prime looked down, and realized that he was still in his pajamas.

“Oh. Right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, FP, you naive, narrow-minded fool...


	7. The eruption of Mount Saint Stanford

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to put something between this chapter and the previous one...but I was stuck for what kind of filler to write, and I was honestly really excited for you guys to read this.  
> You are probably (hopefully) gonna love it.

During the next couple of days things fell into a comfortable, steady pattern: everyone worked together on creating a new probe of the same size and type as the original, and putting together a new item with the same sort of magical properties. The Fords and Fiddleford did the majority of the mechanical work, but everyone else helped out however they could with heavy lifting or assembly, and Rebecca was the undisputed expert on putting together the right spells for the chain in accordance with the right times of day and pronunciation of words. In his spare time Ford stayed in a different corner of the basement, working on the proximity shields so that Dan would stop picking him up every time he saw the two of them in the same general area. The trick was to create something that would allow them to be safely close to each other without making actual physical contact...

Ford Prime was basically his size, maybe a little skinnier from his recent extreme lack of self-care, so Ford was able to just let him borrow some of his clothes; he worried a little about whether their dead skin cells disintegrated when they came into contact with each other, but it seemed to cause no undue harm to either of them if it did happen, so he decided not to worry about it.

What he _did_ decide to worry about, instead, was Bill.

So far, there had been no sign of him; nobody who came to the house had unusual yellow eyes or a high, nasally voice, or tried to ask them to make a deal. None of the tourists seemed interested in getting into the house, or anything besides seeing what humans were like and paying exorbitantly for a chance to take pictures or buy pieces of discarded human items. But he didn’t dare to let his guard down about their “friend”; knowing him, he was biding his time, waiting for an opportunity to strike. He even added a small leaflet to his pamphlets warning their guests not to trust him if he showed up in their dreams (complete with illustrative examples), because you really couldn’t be too careful when dealing with Bill, based on some of the things Ford Prime had told him.

Even though there was no portal for him to come through...there was always a chance that their work on the bottomless pit could provide an opportunity for him somehow. Maybe they should put a protective spell around it, just in case?

Speaking of Ford Prime…

In some ways, having another version of himself around was a very pleasant experience. They could spend hours talking about their insights on Gravity Falls and its weirdness; Ford Prime had made several discoveries that Ford hadn’t, such as herds of cows somewhere up in the mountains which were decorated with spots that looked like crop circles, and that there were mosquitos out in the woods whose bites would misspell predictions of the future (in hindsight, the meaning behind “BATCH OUT FOR WILL” was ridiculously obvious). In return, Ford was able to shock his older counterpart by revealing what he and Stanley had discovered about who the true founder of Gravity Falls was, and the best ways to placate gnomes and stop them from raiding your cupboards. They were even able to laugh together over a similar instance they’d both had with that clone copy machine they’d had the same idea of creating.

The downside, however, was Stanley.

Specifically, any mention of him when talking about things they had done together, or any time he was nearby, caused Ford Prime to get this expression like he’d just been sucking on a lemon, or like he could smell something bad right under his nose. It reminded Ford uncomfortably of their father.

He asked, once, if Ford Prime knew what had happened to his Stan; he’d stiffened up, and said in a tight voice, “I haven’t seen him in over ten years,” before immediately changing the subject.

The very idea made Ford feel a little sick.

Ten _years?_

 _He was still nursing a grudge towards Stan after they’d spent_ ten _years apart? Why?! What was the_ point _?!_

But for the time being, at least, he kept his peace about it.

Until finally he couldn’t anymore.

* * *

Things _had_ been going relatively well.

The probe was almost done, needing just a few more things put together before running tests to make sure the transistors were working properly, and that it had a stable connection to the computer system Fiddleford had set up so it could send back data whether or not it returned.

Both Fords were in the basement, working at separate tables (Corduroy had barely been persuaded not to build a six-foot brick wall to separate them, and had grudgingly made do with a three-foot one that went right from between the tables to the base of the stairs, along with a sign that said, in bright red letters, ‘ONE AT A TIME YOU IDIOTS’).

Ford Prime had lost himself in his work, double-checking the algorithms, until there was suddenly the sound of feet clomping down the stairs, and Stan’s voice bellowing, “Lunchtime!”

He clenched his hand around his pencil. “We don’t have time for-”

“Already?” Other-Stanford interrupted, turning around in his chair as his twin reached him. He accepted one of the sandwiches with a smile and a nod.

Ford Prime growled. He wanted to argue that food could wait, but at least his other self was going back to work, even if he was eating with his free hand.

Then Stanley hiked himself up over the wall in one fluid motion, balancing the plate of sandwiches on top of his hand, and came over to his table.

“...Here, why don’t I just set this over here for when ya want it.”

He started to put the plate down-right on top of the papers covered in equations.

“Look out, you idiot!” Ford Prime barely managed to snatch them away just before the plate landed on them.

Stan raised his now-free hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “Okay, sorry.”

_Typical. These are an essential part of what’s possibly my ticket back home and working out how to stop Bill, which you could have caused irreparable damage to, and all you can think to say is ‘Okay, sorry’?_

Ford Prime scowled.

...And for the first time, instead of dodging away guiltily, Stan frowned back at him.

“Okay, FP, whatever your beef is with the other me, ya think ya can get over it while you’re here?”

Ford Prime froze. “ _Get over_ it?!”

“Yeah. Cuz I’m not him, okay? I don’t think I needa be punished cuz you’re mad at him about the science fair, and stressed out cuz you fell through your own portal-”

“ _I didn’t_ fall _. YOU pushed me._ ”

The words were snarled out before Ford Prime could think about whether he wanted to say them or not.

Stan’s face contorted into an expression of shock, looking like he’d been hit over the head by something heavy. Somehow, that only served as fuel for his wrath; he got out of his chair, and stood glaring at Stan, fists clenching at his sides.

“I sent you a postcard, asking you to come to Gravity Falls and help me prevent the end of the world by taking my last journal and hiding it somewhere far away, so Bill could never use it to turn the portal back on, and give me time to figure out a way to destroy him. Instead, you got all bent out of shape and started kvetching over how ‘hard’ your life was,” he spat the words out with vicious satisfaction at how visibly wounded Stanley was-not his Stanley, but he was still _a_ Stanley, so that was good enough right now- “and wanted to pick a fight with me instead of helping me out when I needed you most, so we ended up accidentally turning the portal on in the middle of our scuffle, and then you shoved me right into it!”

Stan’s eyes had become almost impossibly wide, and he was shaking his head a tiny bit, like denying it could make it not true.

“No-that-I wouldn’t-”

“Oh, but you _would_ ,” Ford Prime growled, advancing. “Because that’s what you _do_ , Stanley. You ruin everything you touch, without caring about who gets hurt by your pettiness, or whether they’re trying to do something important like save the world, or get into the most prestigious college on the-”

_CLANGGGGG!!!!_

Ford Prime’s rant was cut short when something heavy and metallic hit him in the back, straight between the shoulder blades, knocking the wind right out of him. He barely had time to register that it was a part of the probe as he collapsed to his knees, when he heard his own voice shouting, “ _WHO CARES?!?!?!?!_ ”

Ford Prime twisted, and saw Other-Stanford standing right at the edge of the wall, face bright red with rage. He gaped at the other him, even as he hopped over the wall and advanced towards him, and continued to yell.

“So you didn’t get into ONE. _STUPID_ . COLLEGE. So _what_ ?! It doesn’t _matter_ anymore, Stanford! You _still_ got a great education, you _still_ wound up in this wonderful place where you get to study all the anomalies your heart desires, whenever you want to, in your own house! You lost _nothing_ by not going to West Coast Tech!” Ford Prime opened his mouth, but it was his turn not to be given the chance to speak.

“Meanwhile, guess what happened to Stanley?” Other-Stanford briefly glanced at his brother, before turning his snarl back at the man who was now staggering to his feet. “Ever since he got kicked out he’s had to live on the _streets_ , unable to hold down a job or even have a _roof_ over his head most of the time, and people are constantly trying to _kill_ him or hurt him or use him for their own selfish means, just because he broke a _high school science fair project_ ! Are you _completely_ incapable of seeing how unfair that is?!”

He was only three feet away from Ford Prime before Stan stepped between them, and pushed him back with a gentle shove to his chest. Other-Stanford blinked, and seemed to regain a little of his composure, before turning a glare saturated in contempt on his counterpart.

“I’m glad I haven’t turned out like you. You really are a selfish [CENSORED].”

With that, he turned and stormed towards the stairs, which he steadily marched up for the entire distance.

Up above them, the door to the basement slammed shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...You know you've hit rock bottom when even you from another dimension doesn't respect you.


	8. Stan and Ford have a brief cool-down moment

“...Wow. That was...wow.”

Stan wasn’t quite sure what to make of what had just happened. And judging by the look on his face, Ford Prime wasn’t quite sure what to make of it either. He was staring at the stairs, looking like he’d been hit right between the eyes with the probe, instead of in the back (ow, that was probably gonna leave a mark).

At last Stan said, “...Sorry, he’s...uh...I’m-I’m just gonna-”

He stopped trying to come up with explanations, and hurried upstairs after his twin.

He found Fiddleford, Shermie, Rebecca and Xander sitting in the kitchen, all looking a little wide-eyed. Shermie was particularly comical, because he was sitting with a forkful of food frozen halfway to his mouth. A plate had been thrown at the wall very recently; the area dripped pieces of meat and vegetables, and the counter was decorated with pieces of shattered ceramic.

“Did Ford-”

Without speaking Fiddleford lifted his hand and pointed towards the front door.

“Thanks.” Stan went after his twin.

* * *

He didn’t have to look far; Ford was on the porch, pacing back and forth and muttering to himself, still pretty red in the face.

“Um...Sixer? You okay?”

“ _ I’m fine _ .”

“...Right. You wanna try sayin’ that  _ without _ gritting your teeth this time?”

Ford actually growled at him, and resumed pacing.

Stan sat down on the couch and watched him for a little bit. At last he said softly, “You wanna talk, or should I wait for you ta burn yourself out?”

“ _ How _ are you being so calm about this?!” Ford erupted. “I can’t believe him-all he seems to care about are his own stupid ambitions, and didn’t even think that you might’ve-that you weren’t- _ rrrrgh _ -”

He slammed a fist down on the porch railing, not seeming to care if he got splinters, before just leaning both hands on it and glaring at the trees.

And somehow, that was enough to help Stan understand.

“And ya know that that could’ve been you.”

Ford froze.

“If we hadn’t figured out what Bill was like, he probably would’ve tricked you, same as FP, and you would’ve ended up just like him.”

Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt to sugarcoat it just a little...but on the other hand, Ford sometimes responded best to bluntness. Right now, though, he stood stock still, with his back to Stan, the only indication that he heard him being the way his hands tightened around the railing, so he couldn’t tell if it was the right approach or not.

Stan leaned forward, resting his folded arms on his legs. “That’s part o’ what’s eatin’ you, isn’t it?”

“...Technically  _ you _ were the one who figured out what Bill was like,” Ford muttered, which was close enough to an answer in the affirmative.

“Hey, you realized he was possessin’ Dan in time ta save me from gettin’ stabbed. Don’t sell yourself short, Poindexter.”

Ford scoffed, and his shoulders tightened.

Stan bit his lip. “...Besides, it sounds like the other me isn’t exactly great either.”

That was enough to turn his brother around.

“Stanley, no, there’s gotta be more to what he said happened-”

“I pushed him into the portal, Stanford.” Just the thought made bile rise in his throat a little.

“And from the description he gave, it was probably an accident.” Ford joined Stan on the other side of the couch.

“...Maybe.” It certainly sounded like the kind of dumb thing Stan would do during a fight. ...On the other hand, it was an incident in an alternate reality, so who knows what had happened.

They sat in silence for a minute, just watching the forest; at last, though, Stan said, “Maybe it’s crazy of me, but I get the feeling that...FP’s kinda jealous.”

Ford quirked an eyebrow at him.

“I’m serious.” Stan tilted his head in his twin’s direction. “He’s been tryna do all this stuff by himself-stop Bill, protect his world, even just get some dumb unicorn hair-and we’ve got all of it figured out. Well, mostly, anyway.” That at last got a bit of a smile out of his twin. “And we got this group of people workin’ with us, helping us out...and he’s got nobody, and he  _ can’t  _ handle it by himself. It’s probably why he keeps glaring at me and you whenever we’re laughin’ about something or whatever and he thinks we’re not looking.”

“...You and me.”

Stan shoved him in the shoulder. “Whatever, pedantic Pete.”

They both laughed this time.

“So, what do you propose we do about it?” Ford asked at last.

“...Finish fixing the probe and figure out how ta get him home so we can get him outta your hair as soon as possible?”

“Heh. Unfortunately,” he grimaced, “I might have made that a little more difficult with my brief loss of composure.”

“It was pretty awesome, though. Thanks.”

“Nobody is allowed to talk to you like that anymore. Not while I have breath in my body.”

“Careful; that kinda vow can come back ta bite you in the butt later.”

“I don’t care. I’m making it anyway.” Ford got up, straightening his shirt, and winced guiltily when he looked towards the house. “I should probably go clean up the mess. And apologize to everyone in the kitchen.”

“Yeah, not sure Rebecca appreciates what ya did to her meatloaf.”

With a slightly nervous swallow, Ford headed inside to meet his fate.

Stan followed to offer moral support-and possibly to enjoy watching him get scolded by their sister-in-law.


	9. Ford Prime continues to get his reality checked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've realized the perfect name for people who are in the Gravity Falls fandom and specifically big fans of the grunks: the STANdom!!!!
> 
> *Crickets*
> 
> ...  
> ....  
> .....I'll just be over here.

The sound of the basement door shutting, along with the pain in his back, was finally enough to snap Ford Prime out of his stupor.

He staggered over to his chair and sat down in it sideways, so the sore area (which he could already tell was developing a sizable bruise) wouldn’t have to touch the back. Then he tried to process what the everloving heck had just happened.

It was one thing to have your own brother call you selfish in a frustrated rage. It was another thing altogether to have yourself (sort of) call you selfish, and in addition say (even if not in those exact words) that the grudge you’d been holding for all these years was stupid and petty and not worth it.

How could Other-Stanford possibly place so little value on something that had been so important to him? That college had been a chance to get away from Glass Shard Beach, and all the people who saw him as just an over intelligent, mutated freak, and be somewhere he could finally fit in-

_Somewhere like here?_

For a panicked moment Ford Prime wondered if Bill had managed to slip through their defenses and start whispering in his head again. But no, the tone wasn’t the nasally whine of the demon; it was just the echo of his own thoughts.

 _...Okay, so maybe my life_ wasn’t _completely derailed by going to Backupsmore instead. But Stan still took that chance away, and then never apologized for it. He just tried to blow it off like it didn’t matter to me at all! He deserved-_

Deserved what?

To be thrown out in the street?

To be told he could never come home?

To lose _everything_?

If half of what Other-Stanford said was true, then maybe he wasn’t exaggerating when he’d ranted about his life...about things like going to prison? He hadn’t listened as attentively as he could have, because he was trying not to be engulfed with mindless panic about Bill getting into his head again, or finding another meat puppet, or any number of other horrible things happening any second and having no way to account for or control all of them Stanley why can’t you just _listen_ to me for once I need your _HELP-_

_“I’m giving you a chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life and you won’t even listen!”_

_...Yeah._ Really _inspirational way to get someone to do what you want._

He lost track of how long he sat there, staring at the dented part of the probe that Other-Stanford had thrown at him so that he’d stop berating his brother. It brought back an old memory of Stan doing things like that for him...and him doing them in return, like siccing their possum on the net to free the Jersey Devil, or helping him with his homework so Pa would stop breathing down his neck about his grades quite as much.

He wished he was capable of turning his brain off for once, but that wasn’t biologically feasible. A few times his stomach growled, but he didn’t pay much attention to it until it changed from a rumble to a full-out roar.

At last Ford Prime remembered the sandwiches. They were still sitting on the table, untouched. Maybe it was unsafe for him to eat them when they’d been left out in the open for so long; he picked one up and bit into it anyway.

It was turkey with avocado: one of his favorites. There were three sandwiches on the plate, but without thinking about it much Ford Prime soon finished them all off. When he was done, he licked the last traces of mustard from around his mouth, and set the plate back down on the table. Then he sighed unhappily, and wondered what to do now.

Eventually he wandered upstairs in the hopes that a new environment might help with alleviating some of his more unhappy thoughts. To his relief, there was nobody in the room where the entrance to the basement was kept, and when he slipped out of it he could hear a collection of voices from the kitchen, and what sounded like dishes being washed. He made it through the house without encountering anyone, out onto the front porch-

Where he found Stanley.

* * *

To his surprise, this version of his brother was sitting on the couch with a pad of paper and a bag of what looked like charcoal next to him, and appeared to be actually sketching the forest right in front of him.

Stan looked up when he came outside, and even though it was already sunset he seemed able to tell which Ford this was with just a glance; his shoulders stiffened, and he turned his gaze down very intently on his work. Ford Prime’s stomach clenched.

He searched for something coherent to say, but what ended up coming out was, “...Your drawing skills are better than I remember.”

 _Real smooth_ , the snide voice in the back of his head commented.

Stan rubbed two of his fingers against the area he’d been drawing on, deepening the shadow. “I just needed ta find the right medium, I guess. Matt thinks I’d be pretty good at oil painting too.”

_Matt?_

Without looking up Stan said, “Matilda. Dan’s girlfriend.”

“...Oh.”

Ford Prime rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly; Stan continued to ignore him and focus on his drawing.

After a minute he blurted out, “Were you really living on the streets?”

Stan paused. “...Not exactly. I had my car ta sleep in.”

“That still counts as living on the streets, Stanley.”

“Then yeah, I was.” He picked up another charcoal pencil. “It’s kinda hard ta afford a place ta live without a job, and there’s a limit ta the number of jobs you can get when you don’t have an address. Kind of a what do you call it-a vicious circle.”

The flat tone he used to say it just made it worse.

Ford Prime sat down on the other end of the sofa and clenched his sweaty hands together in front of him. He was searching for new words, but Stan spoke again before he could.

“But hey, this is a parallel universe. Maybe your Stan had it luckier than me.”

Ford Prime closed his eyes for a moment, and forced himself to remember his brother the last time he’d seen him.

_Dirty-looking red jacket; unshaven chin; long, greasy-looking shaggy hair; shadowy, slightly bloodshot eyes not too unlike how his own had been; anguished scream of pain as his back collided with the console because Ford’s shoe shoved him right onto the hot part of it-_

He opened his eyes.

“No…” he whispered. “I don’t think he did.”

There was another silence as Ford Prime watched this other version of his brother draw, noticed that he was very good at shaping the shadows so that they really looked like trees, and somehow managing to give off the impression of a forest at sunset using just different shades of black and gray.

_Stop stalling and just apologize for what you said to him already! He didn’t deserve it and you know it!_

Before he could even open his mouth, however, Stan whispered, “I’m sorry about West Coast Tech. I know I’m not the one you really needa hear it from, but still. It was a great opportunity for you, so I’m sorry you lost it.”

Somehow that stung worse than if he hadn’t spoken.

“...That was no excuse for me to lash out at you like that. Or for you to be made homeless.”

 _Or for that to happen to_ my _Stanley._

“No. It wasn’t.”

Ford Prime winced, but he knew he deserved that. “I’m sorry.”

Stan gave him a searching glance...and then punched him in the arm. A little harder than it would have been if he were just being friendly, but not hard enough to be meant in actual aggression.

He’d take what he could get.

Stan bit his lip, and appeared to be mulling over something. At last he glanced at Ford Prime.

“Did I-or he-really-”

He faltered.

Ford Prime could guess what he was trying to ask. “...We were fighting, and he shoved me backwards, which meant I got caught up in the portal’s gravity field...but I don’t think he knew what would happen. My last memory of him is...him asking me what to do.”

He laughed, a little bitterly. Because even after he’d just called him worthless and _branded_ him, Stan had still looked to him for answers. And wasn’t that just a kick in the teeth to realize.

All the same, this conversation had made him feel oddly...appeased, somehow. A little less ripped open inside.

As Stan had pointed out, he wasn’t the one Ford Prime really needed to hear the apology from...but that didn’t mean it didn’t feel good to hear it.

The feeling of peace dissipated when he heard his voice calling from the front door.

“Stanley? Are you out here?”

Other-Stanford stepped outside-and as he’d expected, he appeared less than pleased to see his counterpart out here next to his brother.

_Do my eyebrows really smash together that much when I glare at someone?_

“Easy, Poindexter,” Stan said from his other side. “He said he was sorry for what happened.”

Other-Stanford made a noise that sounded a little like “hmph,” and closed the door so he could lean against it, arms crossed. In the increasingly diminishing light, he looked too much like Pa to be comfortable.

“Well, look at that!” Stan said in his ‘hey, pay attention to me instead of whatever awkward situation is going on!’ voice, “It’s already sundown, which means any minute now the gnomes and raccoons are gonna continue their war for who gets today’s trash. My money’s on the raccoons, personally. Anyone wanna come inside and place bets through the safety of the kitchen window so we can avoid gettin’ directly caught up in it?”

“Maybe later,” Other-Stanford said flatly.

Stan sighed and got up, going to his brother’s side and tugging his arm. “Sixer, c’mon. Seriously. There’s also lotsa mosquitos that like ta come out right now, and you don’t need any weird messages misspelled on your arms-”

“In a minute, Stanley.”

A look passed between them...and this time Ford Prime recognized why he felt that clenching sensation in his chest. Because he remembered what it was like to have someone he could share that kind of look with, and have an entire unspoken conversation pass between them.

At last, with a soft, annoyed sigh, Stan went inside, leaving the two of them alone on the porch.

* * *

_Corduroy would probably be tearing his hair out if he knew Stanley left us unsupervised._

Ford Prime scooted back to the middle of the sofa, just in case (feeling a twinge when his bruised back pressed into the padding), but Other-Stanford didn’t try to come closer. He just stood there, glaring at him.

“Look,” Ford Prime said at last, “I know that I said some stupid things-”

“Do you want to know how we got rid of Bill the first time?”

He blinked.

Other-Stanford continued, in a tone that could be used to bore holes through solid steel. “I nearly did what you did-I was taken in immediately by his praising my intelligence, and promises of helping me to achieve greatness. But _Stanley_ could see right away that he was full of it, and he persuaded me to see the truth too.”

“...He did?”

He wanted to smack himself for asking. _Of course he did; Stanley’s always been better at knowing when other people were lying._

Other-Stanford continued, looking annoyed at the interruption. “And Bill, when he realized that he couldn’t trick us, captured us instead, and tried to blackmail us into doing his bidding. He said, if I remember correctly, that if I did what he said, he would let Stanley live, and if Stanley did what he said, he’d let me keep all my limbs.”

Ford Prime flinched; he could certainly imagine his former muse saying such things, in an utterly smug tone because you were trapped, and he knew you were trapped-

“And do you know what Stanley did?”

“...I think it’s obvious to both of us that I do not.”

Other-Stanford stepped forward, his shoes smacking against the porch. “He made Bill go away, by putting a _gun_ against his head and being willing to fire so he couldn’t be used as leverage against me.”

It felt just like a sucker punch in the gut for Ford Prime. “He did _what_?”

“I had to watch, Stanford. I had to watch him risk blowing his own brains out if it meant keeping me safe. And it worked, because Bill decided we weren’t worth the trouble of trying to manipulate if we were willing to take such extremes, and so he left. But I have had to live with the fact that my brother thinks so little of himself he _easily_ could throw his life away, because he’s had so many people tell him over and over that he was worthless and inferior to me that he’s still working on not believing it.”

He slammed his hand on the top of the couch; Ford Prime flinched away. “Do not ever disparage him like that again.”

Ford Prime swallowed, hard. “...I will not.”

Other-Stanford stared at him for a minute longer, and then he turned and went back inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And he didn't even need to mention Stan's occasional past self-harm habits.


	10. The folly of an old man

Preston hadn’t meant to hide in his father’s study.

He knew that he technically wasn’t supposed to be in there, but there’d been a small misunderstanding when his _au pair_ found Hunter in her room trying to get into her chocolate stash, and she’d started screaming and throwing a fit and chased him into the hallway, and in his efforts to protect his pet fox Preston had ended up shoving her into the wall so hard it knocked down a portrait and broke it, and then she’d slapped him across the face and called him a spoiled brat, and he’d run away and hid in the first room he found whose door opened, and he wasn’t sure what was going to happen now.

Part of him was, to his surprise, wondering not for himself, but for his _au pair_. He wondered if his father was going to sack her when he learned what happened.

He wasn’t sure if he liked the idea.

She was different from previous people who’d been hired to look after him.. She actually made him learn how to _do_ things; how to clean up after himself, how to cook a few simple meals, even how to change a tire on his bicycle. All things his father had assured him that he’d never need to learn, but that she insisted a boy his age should already know how to do.

And...once after an especially difficult day of lessons, when he had lost composure and cried from frustration at how he seemed unable to remember all the things he was expected to, she had sat down by his side and put an arm around him, and he’d been too despondent to assert his dignity so he’d allowed it. When he was calm again, she’d given him a handkerchief to dry his eyes and helped him finish the assignment without saying a word about it.

No one else had ever done that for him, and he had to admit that he kind of liked it.

He didn’t want his father to sack her...but he didn’t want to get in trouble either.

* * *

He was still mulling over what could be a possible solution that would benefit all parties, when the door of the office opened.

Preston scrambled farther under the desk, grateful that it had such a large leg space underneath, because then maybe when his father sat down he wouldn’t realize he was there.

But Father didn’t sit down. Instead he began pacing back and forth, muttering to himself, before he finally stopped.

Preston dared to scoot a little closer to the edge of the desk and peep out.

Father was staring at one of the books on the shelf of his study; if the boy remembered correctly, they were from the writings of his great-grandfather. ~~The man who was a total fraud.~~

He reached out a hand towards it, hesitated, and then resolutely plucked it from the shelf and flipped through it.

Preston scooted back when his father turned around and approached the desk, but once again went unnoticed when he rang the bell. There was the sound of the study door opening, and shoes padding onto the carpet.

“Evelyn, what have I told you!”

“Sorry, Mr. Northwest.” There came the sound of shoes being removed, and more muffled footsteps.

“Bring me some candles and a matchbox. And make sure no one disturbs me for at least the next twenty minutes.”

“Yes sir.”

“And the next time you wear shoes on this carpet you’re fired.”

“...Yes sir.” The maid’s feet padded back out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Father muttered something, and resumed pacing.

A few minutes later she returned, Preston assumed with the candles and matches. He could hear her unshod feet crossing the floor to place a tray on the desk, and then slip out again. As soon as she was gone, Father came to the desk and began moving things around; when he was done, Preston heard the sound of a match being struck, and could smell the smoke.

And then, after an interlude which was probably that of the candles being lit, Father began to say something...strange.

It almost sounded like a magic spell out of a storybook. He could pick out a few words of Latin, but they came out too quickly for him to understand the full message.

Preston peeked out-in time to see his father lurch forward, bracing his hands on the desktop. He was about to crawl out and see if he needed help, punishment or not, when...Father’s eyes turned blue-white.

And pupil-less.

And he began yelling something, in a language that Preston had never heard before, as the room around them suddenly lost all color, changing into different shades of gray.

And a strange white light appeared overhead, along with the sound of unearthly cackling.

Preston scrambled back out of sight, gasping and covering his mouth.

_This has to be a dream this has to be a dream I’ll wake up any moment because it’s all just a dream-_

A voice rang out; one he had never heard before, and which definitely should not have been in his father’s study.

“So, you finally decided ta get back ta me! Have you thought about my offer, Old Man?”

“It’s _Auldman_ ,” Father growled. “And yes. I have thought about it...and I still don’t understand what’s in it for you.”

“Oh, come, on, sport!” the strange chirpy voice whined. “What’s it matter, as long as you finally get one up on those obnoxious Pineses?”

Preston’s breath caught in his throat. _The Pineses?_

“Because in my experience, everyone always wants something. And if they’re not giving away the details, it usually means it’s something they won’t like me knowing about, because they know that _I_ won’t like it.” Father’s voice dripped with superiority. “I’ve dealt with enough politicians and celebrities to know that people never make offers like the one you’ve given me out of the goodness of their hearts.”

Whoever else was in the room let out an exasperated sigh. “Look, you’re not the only one who’s got an axe to grind against the Pines family. And for an extra bonus, it’ll get the Corduroys out of your hair too-or at least the one who could cause you any kind of trouble in the future.”

“That _does_ sweeten the deal…” Father mused. But then he asked, “Why would someone like _you_ have problems with _them_?”

“Because they cheated me out of a deal, okay?!” The chirpiness suddenly deepened to a level that sent chills down Preston’s spine. “I _hate_ being cheated out of deals!”

“That’s one thing we have in common.” Father cleared his throat. “So, if I do agree to this favor, is there a contract we need to sign?”

“Psh, naaah, it doesn’t need to be anything that complicated! All you gotta do is shake my hand!” There was a small _whoosh_ noise, like a flame coming to life on a barbecue.

For a moment, everything was quiet. And then Father’s voice said, “Very well.”

The other voice cackled, long and loud; Preston wondered why nobody was coming to investigate, even if Father _had_ asked that he not be disturbed, because _everything_ about this felt wrong.

But then, impossibly, things got worse.

Father stumbled back from the desk, on legs that suddenly sounded far more wobbly than they’d been just a few minutes ago, and said, in a high nasal voice, “Oh wow! It has been _way_ too long since I got to have one of these things! Older than the last model, but hey, at least it works!”

Preston scooted to the far back of the desk, with one of his hands clamped to his mouth.

_What had Father done?_

He realized a second too late that one of his shoes had thumped against the wood, making a noise.

And then his father was kneeling down and peering in at him, wearing a smile that was far wider than any facial expression that had ever appeared on his face.

“Well, well, well,” he crooned, “What do we have here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I figure there was a Bill tapestry in the Northwest mansion for a reason.
> 
> Also, an au pair, for any unfamiliar with the term, is essentially Rich Person for "live-in nanny."


	11. Fiddleford on the Roof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm a fan of old musicals, and of puns.  
> No, I'm not going to apologize for any of it.

Tate was getting marginally better about sleeping through the night, to both his parents’ relief. He would still start squalling at odd times for no apparent reason they could figure out, but it was happening less often, and when it did they’d learned to some extent what could calm him down the quickest. And even though he talked less than babies his age were supposed to, his motor and problem-solving skills were both very advanced; Fiddleford could happily spend hours watching him play with his blocks in what seemed like an ambitious attempt to build the biggest tower in the world.

This all meant that when Fiddleford went over to the Pines’ house that morning, ready for another day of work, he was feeling slightly better rested than usual, and his eyelids for once didn’t feel like they had quarters weighing them down this early in the day.

He let himself in through the door into the kitchen, and since nobody else was down yet, he decided to make himself useful and get the coffee started.

And then, when he pulled out the coffee maker, he had a sudden inspiration for some improvements that could be made to it, and without thinking about it he whipped out his tool kit and got to work.

He happily lost himself in his tinkering, making an adjustment in the wiring here, a few parts reattached there, and making mental notes for what he could do with a few more pieces he might need to go to the dump to find-until there was an awkward cough behind him.

Fiddleford slowly came to the realization that he was vivisecting his friend’s coffee maker without permission, and spun around in embarrassment.

Ford was standing in the doorway-one of them, at least.

“Which one are you?” Fiddleford tried to surreptitiously move the assemblage of parts and wires further behind his back.

Ford sighed, and shrugged his shoulders, shoving his hands into his pants pockets. “The one that everyone hates, apparently.”

“...Oh.”

Fiddleford, partially based on educated guesses (and partially on some slight eavesdropping, but that wasn’t necessarily his fault; Ford really had no concept of indoor voice when he was in a snit), had guessed at what kind of troubles had occurred in the dimension Ford Prime had come from. These included him and his Stanley (did that make him Stan Prime?) not having made up like the ones here had; therefore yesterday Ford Prime had been taking his anger and frustration out on this version of his twin, and Ford had jumped in to defend him. And evidently, this one had really taken what was said to him to heart.

Unfortunately, he appeared to be taking it a little too  _ far  _ to heart. No big surprise there, since this was Stanford Pines, the king of taking things to extremes...but maybe he needed someone to reel him in a little.

Fiddleford folded his arms and leaned back against the counter. “By everyone, ya mean just the other you? Cuz I’m pretty sure he’s the only one who might be actually  _ hatin _ ’ you, and it’s mostly just that he’s mad at hisself for what coulda been.”

Ford Prime stared at his shoes grumpily. “Hmph.”

Fiddleford couldn’t help snickering a little at his expression. “No matter what dimension you’re from, you’re still a bit of a drama queen.”

The bit of prodding, as he’d expected, was enough to make him stop closing himself off; he straightened up and snapped, “Well,  _ pardon me _ for feeling guilty about the fact that it’s been made clear to me just how terrible of a brother I am!”

The smaller man held up his hands in the traditional “I come in peace” gesture. “Okay, sorry.”

Ford Prime’s shoulders drooped again, and his hands returned to his pockets. “I’ve made so many mistakes, F...and so many people have been hurt because of me. Especially Stanley.”

Fiddleford almost wished Ford Prime were younger, like child or teenager-age, so it would be less awkward for him to sit him down with a mug of hot cocoa (which would probably be what everyone would be having this morning unless he could get the coffee maker reassembled, but it could wait until he’d finished consoling this brilliant, stupid man-child thing standing in front of him). He had to settle for stepping closer to him and asking, “So what’re you gonna do about it?”

Ford Prime looked up. “Uh-what?”

“You feel bad about the mistakes you made, so-if we get ya home, are you gonna do somethin’ ta make it better?” He tilted his head. “Pretty sure anything’s better’n nothing at this point.”

Ford Prime hesitated...and then nodded. “Yes, you’re right, F. Of course you’re right.”

Fiddleford patted his arm with a gentle smile, and then turned back to the coffee maker. Everyone else would probably be here any second, and there would be hell to pay if two Fords at once had to go without coffee-

“Fiddleford?”

He went on working, but glanced over his shoulder so Ford Prime would know he was listening.

“...How are you handling things here? All the...weirdness?”

Fiddleford shrugged. “All right, mostly. Some stuff took a little gettin’ used to, but what doesn’t?”

Granted, there were times when he’d be awakened by noises outside that were a little unsettling, but being able to wrap his arm around Emma-May or play with his Cubik’s Cube helped him relax back into sleep, at least until Tate started fussing again.

Ford Prime cleared his throat, and out of the corner of his eye Fiddleford could see him step into his line of view. “Well...if anything really frightening happens...you should find someone to talk to about it, or just leave.”

Before Fiddleford could resent the implication that he was the sort of person to chicken out when things got tough, he went on speaking.

“I know that you have a bit of an anxiety issue, and a place like this isn’t always the most accommodating atmosphere for dealing with it. So if you really feel like you can’t handle it...you should take your family and go as far away as possible.”

The way he was saying this made chills go down Fiddleford’s spine, in addition to making him wonder what the heck his alternate self had gone through to make Ford Prime feel the need to give this speech.

“And if the other me ever gets involved in something really dangerous and stupid and you can’t make him see reason-”

“Ya mean like the portal?”

Ford Prime stopped short.

“I know howta connect dots, Stanford. And they told me that Other-me was in it for a bit.”

He flinched. “Yes. So if he starts doing something like that...don’t let him drag you into it. Hit him over the head with something and drag him away if you have to-I have been reliably informed that the head is nature’s snooze button.”

Fiddleford snorted, and screwed a new panel in place. “I bet Stan told ya that.”

“...Yes, actually.” Ford Prime smiled for the first time in this conversation. Wistfully.

They lapsed back into silence.

Fiddleford was almost finished with his repairs to the coffee maker, when the door burst open, and in rushed Stan-probably not the one they were just talking about, but still.

He doubled over, leaning his hands on his knees and gasping for a moment, before straightening up and seeing them.

“Fidds! You’re not gonna believe this, but the probe’s come back up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know, I'm sorry.  
> I shouldn't always end my chapters on cliffhangers.  
> But it's what seems to get your attention-I dunno what you people want from me.


	12. Back from the Future (sort of)

Both Fords, the Fidds, and the Stan were standing at the edge of the bottomless pit. Or more specifically, they were standing in front of the probe which lay at the edge of the pit, looking more than a little battered and dented but at least not completely destroyed.

Fiddleford gingerly knelt down and poked it with the tip of his finger; he jerked back when a few sparks flew up, and the whole machine crackled.

Both Fords, Stan noticed, appeared to have developed actual stars in their eyes, and were jittering in place from excitement.

“This is the first time  _ anything _ has returned from the bottomless pit after more than twenty-four hours!” Ford squealed (not that he would ever willingly refer to it as such, but it was).

Ford Prime crouched next to Fiddleford and took his turn jabbing the probe; he seemed far less concerned by the crackling and sparking. “What kind of information was this built to pick up, Fiddleford? Can we hook it up to something, or connect it to something, or-”

“We can attach it ta my computer.”

Ford Prime glanced at him. “...Would that be a portable one?”

“Why yes!” Fiddleford looked delighted at his knowing about it. “They’re the technology of the future.”

Both Fords snorted in unison. “Yeah, that’ll be the day,” the younger one muttered, shooting Fiddleford a teasing smile so he wouldn’t get too mad at them.

“It’s basically just a large, ungainly version of a journal,” Ford Prime added.

For a moment there was almost a sense of camaraderie between them...until Ford seemed to remember that he was mad at his older self, and gave him a cold stare before turning his gaze back to the probe.

Ford Prime deflated.

Fiddleford said, in a quick voice that implied he was trying to defuse the tension, “Oh, ye of little faith. Just you two wait, soon enough everyone in the world’ll have a computer in their home. Or, better, everyone’ll just have their own individual computer! Mebbe even one small enough for ‘em ta carry in their pocket!” He grabbed onto a side of the probe, which thankfully didn’t result in his being electrocuted, and began trying to tow it back towards the house.

The probe barely budged.

“...Maybe we should just have Dan carry this thing,” Stan suggested.

* * *

Dan gave a resigned sigh at being asked to be their muscle- _ again _ -but he did come to the pit with them and carry the probe back to the house. This meant he needed to use both hands and was therefore unable to carry either Ford and prevent potential accidental contact, so instead he made Ford walk ten steps in front of him and the other one go ten steps behind, giving them both warning glares when they tried to object.

Once they were home, Fiddleford had to grab his computer from his workspace in the basement, and his tool kit from the kitchen, and produced some cables which he plugged into different parts of the devices. The Fords asked if he needed help, but he just shooed them away and said he needed alone time with his “babies,” so everyone just went to the kitchen.

Shermie and his family were already there, and had thrown together some breakfast for everyone.

“We would have also made coffee, but it looks like something’s wrong with the coffee maker,” Shermie said, gesturing to the partly-cannibalized item laying on the counter.

Ford skidded to a halt, and let out a horrified, half-strangled noise at the sight of it.

“Sorry!” Fiddleford called from the next room, “I’ll finish that when I get this done!”

“You  _ better _ !” But Ford was clearly too excited about what they could learn from the probe to be all that upset.

For twenty minutes they waited, eating and making idle chit-chat. Ford ignored everyone in favor of scribbling frantically in his journal at speeds not possible to most people, and Ford Prime looked like he wanted to contribute to his counterpart’s work but felt like his presence would be unwelcome.

Since it probably would be, it wasn’t like Stan could fault him for that. So instead, he leaned over and whispered in Xander’s ear.

After a second the kid snatched up his plate and wandered over to the other side of the table, climbing right into Ford Prime’s lap before he knew what was happening.

“Uh-Xander! What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Sitting on you.” Xander tried to balance his plate on his knees. “You got bony legs, but they’re still nice.”

“Um-I can see that, but why are you-”

“Cuz there’s no extra chairs over here.” He beamed at him.

“I’m sure we could scoot your chair over so you’re not squishing your-uncle,” Rebecca said. She looked a little uncertain about the appropriateness of the term, but used it anyway.

“No, that’s-that’s fine.” Ford Prime’s shoulders relaxed, and after a second in which his arms flailed while he clearly struggled to decide what to do with them, he settled for just resting them on the table.

_ Whether he realizes it or not, Sixer really is a sucker for kids. _

At last Fiddleford came into the kitchen.

“There’s been a lotta damage, but I was able ta salvage the video feed. And some of the data it gathered. And...I think you’d better come look at it, Stanford. Both of you.”

Despite his only naming them, everyone else followed him to the living room (Dan keeping an eagle eye on both Fords the whole time). Fiddleford looked a little surprised at their interest, but he just went back to his computer and punched keys in a way that Stan couldn’t make head or tail of, but that evidently made perfect sense to him. The screen fizzed with green light a few times, and then a video of what looked like random flashes of blue-white light appeared.

“Apparently while it was in the pit, it got caught in a kinda stasis field between our dimensions. And it managed ta pick up  _ this _ at one point.”

There was a blur of colors, which settled into, for a few seconds, a large blue-white circle with an image in the middle.

An image of a basement, with a figure standing in it, visible before everything turned back into darkness.

Stan’s breath hitched.

“There’s a few snatches of video pretty much the same as this,” Fiddleford said softly. “But they show pretty clearly that someone’s tryna open the portal again.”

“Not just someone,” Ford Prime whispered.

The image of the basement appeared again, and Fiddleford paused it.

And everyone got a look at the blurred figure wearing the dark red jacket standing in front of the portal.

* * *

Unnoticed, Preston stared through the window into the living room for another second, making sure he remembered as much about what was going on and what they were saying as possible, enough to hopefully please Him. Then he slid back down onto the porch, before dashing off and hurrying back down the dirt path towards home.

He had to hurry; if he wasn’t back in an hour, Ingrid would be-

The boy blinked back the unwanted moisture rising in his eyes, and picked up the pace.


	13. The Pines family gets BILLed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never tried to open an interdimensional portal. I don't think I even took calculus in high school, because I hate math with a burning passion. So I apologize for any egregious creative liberties taken regarding the portal or the abilities of technology in the late '70's, and hope that the gobbledygook I put together still makes sense.

Stanley was trying to reopen the portal.

_ Stanley was trying to reopen the portal. _

“Has he lost his mind?!” Ford Prime squawked, grabbing onto the computer monitor and shaking it like he could somehow astral project his hands and arms through into his own dimension and do the same thing to the knucklehead that was his brother. “I told him how dangerous this was, and that it would unleash all kinds of horrors if it were ever-he should be  _ destroying _ it-”

“Would you?”

The simple question was enough to stop Ford Prime mid-rant. He released the computer and sat back.

“Wh-what?”

The other Ford folded his arms and said waspishly, “Just because you wouldn’t mind sending  _ him  _ to another dimension and forgetting about him doesn’t mean  _ he’s  _ like that.”

Ford Prime imagined his brother being the one sucked into the portal. Not knowing if he was at Bill’s mercy, or if he would ever see him again. Especially knowing what he knew now about what his life had been like before coming to Gravity Falls, and what the one from this dimension, at least, was capable of doing in the name of protecting his family.

For the first time in a long while, Ford Prime felt like he was about to be violently sick.

“...No,” he croaked, “I don’t think I could do that.”

It was somewhat gratifying that the other Ford only looked surprised for a moment.

“As best I can tell,” Fiddleford said, breaking the awkward silence, “the connection between this dimension and yours was created by our probe and the magical device we threw in after it making contact with the opening your portal created, and forming a temporary conduit between worlds.”

“Can we send him back?” Shermie asked.

He scratched his hand through his hair anxiously. “...It ain’t as easy as last time. The readings I got indicate that the conduit was in part thanks ta the massive amount of energy punched out by your side. There’s a few more bursts that’ve been created during the last few days this baby was in the pit, but they were all real weak, and they weren’t lastin’ too long either. If, theoretically, they’re still happenin’-” meaning if Stan was still trying to get the portal working- “we can use ‘em, but it’s gonna need a lot more energy pushed in from our side ta make up for the weakness, and it ain’t gonna hold it open long even then. We’d haveta make extra sure we could keep it workin’ long enough fer him ta go back through, and not get stuck part way or nothing. But if we can do that...yeah, I think we can send him back.”

The amount of energy needed to power the portal the first time must have caused intense damage to it, Ford Prime realized. Not to mention the directions for using it were separated between all three of his journals, and Stan only had the first one in his possession, as far as he knew.

But he wasn’t letting any of that stop him.

A little voice in his head reminded him that this was incredibly dangerous to attempt, that Bill could probably use it somehow, that they should forget it and just have him live out the rest of his life here, remembering to stay out of reach of his other self and finding an odd kind of happiness with the alternate family and friends he should have reached out to long ago.

He told the voice to shove it.

* * *

Ford felt his raised hackles settling a little towards his counterpart after he said that he wouldn’t have abandoned Stan again. He could always be lying, of course, but...maybe he wasn’t a completely heartless monster after all.

“We ought to send in a few mini-probes first to see if there are still pulses being emitted from the other side of the portal,” he mused quietly. “Can you connect them up to this computer system, Fiddleford, so we can get feedback from them while they’re in the bottomless pit?”

“Um,  _ yes _ , Stanford, I think I can do a simple thing like that,” Fiddleford drawled. “It ain’t like I’m tryna do rocket science here.”

“...Yeah, none of this is  _ anything  _ like rocket science,” Stan deadpanned.

“Hush your mouth.”

Quickly they brought all the equipment back down to the basement, and got to work.

“Iffen I got this right,” Fiddleford said as he checked his calculations for the  _ sixth _ time (he didn’t think his normal quota was sufficient, apparently), “we’re gonna need somethin’  _ really _ powerful if we wanna create a strong enough reaction ta make this work fer long enough. Just some fancy dolled-up jewelry ain’t gonna cut it this time.”

To allow both Fords to be involved, he’d been forced to sit on the brick wall and keep twisting from side to side so they could each get a look at his work. The others (sans Rebecca and Xander, who were upstairs, with the mother trying-probably ineffectually-to get her son to take a nap) were gathered around wherever they would fit.

“What, like a cursed idol?” Stan asked from where he was leaning against the stairs, watching.

“Oh,  _ I  _ don’t know.” Fiddleford waved an irritable hand. “I’m just telling you what my figures are sayin’. It’s gotta be somethin’ strong enough ta grab onto the stuff bein’ emitted by the portal, while the probe’s in there ta provide the mechanical aspect o’ the thing.”

“Could we just throw a whole lot of magical items in?” Shermie asked. “You have plenty of trinkets down here that might work if they were all used together.”

Fiddleford shook his head. “It wouldn’t be the same as one large amount o’ the same kinda enchantments.” For someone who hadn’t even really believed in magic before he’d been told about Gravity Falls, Fiddleford had adapted to learning how to use it scientifically at an impressive speed, Ford thought. There was a reason why he’d been at the top of most of his classes.

“...Maybe we could try taking an object and putting a lot of spells on it, like you did with the chain?” Ford Prime suggested tentatively.

Fiddleford stuck the end of his pencil in his mouth and chewed it with the same level of tenacity he chewed straws back on the hog farm. “Theoretically it could work...but it’d be best if the item already had some pretty powerful magic on it.”

“Yes,” Ford agreed, looking over the figures, “something that could safely absorb more…”

“...Y’mean something like a cursed hand that gives people wishes with a nasty twist to ‘em?”

Everyone startled. They had been so absorbed in the paper lying in front of them that they hadn’t noticed Stan moving over to the shelves. He was holding up the monkey’s paw.

Fiddleford let out a startled squeak. “You have one o’ those?! Haven’t any o’ you knuckleheads read the  _ story _ about that thing?!”

“Yeah, we read it. Don’t worry, we never made any wishes with it.” Stan came over and gingerly set it on Ford Prime’s table.

“If it’s got enough power ta kinda bring people back from the dead, that means it’s gotta be pretty powerful, right?”

It was somewhat disappointing, because Ford had been meaning to run some tests on it once he got done with all the other experiments he had lined up, but...this was probably a little more important.

“This could work.”

He looked at Fiddleford and Ford Prime; they all nodded in unspoken agreement.

They were going to need a  _ lot _ of spell ingredients.

* * *

Xander had insisted that since he was almost six, he was too  _ old _ to take a nap. He had begged, he’d pleaded, he’d argued and protested-all to no avail. Mommy had taken him upstairs and tried to get him settled down enough to sleep by reading to him while they lay on the bed she and Daddy were sharing while they were here.

But joke was on her, cuz  _ she _ was the one who’d fallen asleep, and Xander was still wide awake.

He really, really wanted to go help out his uncles with the thingy that would get Other Uncle Ford back to his home, even if it meant not getting to see him anymore; he didn’t know how much he could help, but at least it’d be fun to watch them. More fun than lying here looking at all the mold samples on the ceiling, anyway.

But he knew that they probably knew he was supposed to be taking a nap, so he couldn’t go down to the basement or he’d get in trouble. He wasn’t supposed to be in the basement anyway, cuz Uncle Ford said they had a lotta dangerous stuff down there they didn’t want him touching.

_ Bein’ a little kid bites. _

He giggled to himself; at least Mommy couldn’t read his mind and scold him for usin’ that kinda language.

On the other hand...everyone was probably down in the basement right now, so maybe he could just play with some of his toys. But, of course, he had to remember not to go outside-Uncle Ford had knelt down in front of him and told him all about the evil triangle guy was out there, and that he needed to stay inside so he couldn’t get him.

Xander slipped out of the room, and crept downstairs; sure enough, there wasn’t a soul in the living room. He happily grabbed his legos, and started creating an epic mad scientist pirate dragon hunter adventure for them.

He was just having his heroes get in the showdown of the century with the evil dragon Smog, when a voice startled him.

“Psst!”

Xander looked up-and had to turn his head around in confusion for a second before he realized that there was someone standing at the window.

It was a boy, a little older than he was, looking like he’d been running. His sweaty hair hung in his eyes, and his cheeks were red, and he was gasping as he leaned against the window.

He glared at him suspiciously. “Who’re you?”

“...That…(gasp, gasp, wheeze) doesn’t matter,” the bigger boy said. He forced himself to straighten up a little, showing that he was wearing old-people fancy-type clothes that looked real sweaty just like the rest of him. Xander wondered if he’d been running in them; that was weird. People normally wore things like old T-shirts and shorts when they went running. “I...I need you to let me in the house, kid.”

Xander jumped off the sofa and stumbled back, frightened.

_ It’s Bill! He’s gotta be Bill! _

“No! Go away!”

“I just-wanna borrow a cup of sugar!”

...Okay, even Xander, as inexperienced in the world as he was, could tell that was a lie. And not even a good one.

“Nuh-uh! Go away, Bill! I’m not lettin’ you hurt my uncles!”

The boy’s face twisted in a mixture of confusion and something else that he wasn’t familiar with, but that older people more experienced in the world of emotions would probably have recognized as desperation.

“Look-I don’t know who Bill is, but that’s not me! I need you to let me in,  _ please _ !” His voice cracked, like he was actually about to start crying if Xander didn’t let him in. “If you don’t-something terrible’s gonna happen!”

Xander wanted to run away and go get Daddy or one of his uncles, or even risk Mommy’s wrath by waking her up from her nap...but then he twisted his head and, coming closer, he stared into the boy’s eyes.

_ “If you meet anyone whose eyes seem a little...off, such as reflecting an odd yellow light, or if the pupils are slitted like a cat’s, then that means he’s possessing them, and you need to get away as soon as possible.” _

They seemed all right.

Pupils were both round, and the eyes weren’t yellow, just a weird muddy brown-green mix. And a little red like they got after you’d been crying really hard.

So he wasn’t being possessed by the triangle.

Xander had a little trouble undoing the lock, but he managed to drag a chair from the kitchen over so he could reach it. Then he opened the door, and the boy stepped inside the house.

“Thanks,” he whispered, still looking really sad. “I’m sorry about this.”

And then he lunged at Xander.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a saying about no good deed going unpunished...
> 
> Please don't kill me, this felt like a realistic Bill move to pull. I don't like it any more than you do.


	14. They really need to set up an intercom system or something in the basement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for going so long (a.k.a. over 24 hours) without posting. I was having a small yet dangerous case of writer's block that I had to fight my way out of, and then was trying to adjust my sleep schedule to something more reasonable (ha ha ha, fat chance of that).  
> Regardless, here it is: the new chapter!

One of the worst noises a parent can wake up to is the sound of their child screaming in terror.

Rebecca sat up at once, jolted out of her dream about eating flowers that tasted like lasagna or something, barely registering how quickly she was moving until she was already at the door.

Without needing to think about it, she raced down the stairs, ready to kill Shermie if he was the one making her son scream like that (as much as she loved her husband, sometimes he really went overboard in playfully scaring their child), or frankly whichever person was responsible-

The front door was open, swinging on its hinges, and there was no sign of Xander in the room.

Rebecca nearly broke her ankle sprinting down the stairs; without stopping to even catch her breath she burst outside onto the porch.

Out on the lawn, she saw an older boy struggling to hold onto her son and drag him away-the definitive word being “struggling,” since Xander clearly remembered everything they’d taught him about defending himself if he got kidnapped, and he was kicking and biting for all he was worth. And despite his being bigger, the older boy clearly had never been in a real fight with anyone in his life, so it was all he could do just to keep a grip on him.

Rebecca didn’t hesitate; she snatched up the bat which Stan kept behind the sofa, and charged off the porch.

Later, she might realize that maybe it was overkill to use such a weapon on a kid who didn’t even appear to be in his teens yet. Right now, however, all she saw was the fact that someone, most likely Bill, was attempting to kidnap her son, and it was going to be a cold, cold day in hell before she let that happen.

She hit the boy right in the ribs with one fluid swing; there was a crunching noise before he toppled with an agonized squeal, letting go of her son and in fact narrowly missing falling on him.

Instantly Rebecca grabbed Xander up into her arms, and turned to run back to the house-and there was a man standing right behind them, with bright yellow eyes and a freakin’ hunting rifle in his hands.

The man, who she barely noticed had a mustache and eyebrows that he must have borrowed from Mark Twain, looked down at the boy whose bones Rebecca was hoping she hadn’t broken, and made a disgusted noise.

“Are you serious? You literally had  _ one job _ , Preston!”

Preston continued to lie in a crumpled, moaning heap on the ground.

The strange man-Bill-shook his head. “So hard to get good help these days...the only way you can make sure something happens how ya want is ta be the meat puppet yourself, am I right, gorgeous?” He grinned at her and wiggled his eyebrows.

Rebecca growled, and put Xander down so she could heft the bat.

Bill pulled back the safety on the rifle. “Calm down, sugar plum. Wouldn’t want anything happening to your little bundle of joy, would we?”

_ If I moved fast enough maybe I could use the bat to push the barrel of the gun up, and then punch him in the face. _

And for a moment Rebecca was tempted to try doing just that.

But.

But her son was there, right behind her, and there was so much risk of things going wrong and a stray bullet hitting him.

Reluctantly she lowered the bat, glaring daggers at the jerk. He had the audacity to smirk back at her.

“That’s more like it. Now let’s go a little bit closer towards the house so good old Fordsie can see us. Both of him.”

“Everyone’s in the basement. They probably haven’t even realized we’re gone yet.”

“Hey, works for me! I got all the time in the world!” Bill began circling around behind her; Rebecca picked up Xander again as quickly as she could. No way was she letting this creep get any closer to her son than she had to.

“Chop chop, lady!”

* * *

“Okay, are we sure that three mini probes is sufficient?” Ford carefully began to clean up some of his equipment.

“Should be.” Fiddleford gathered one of them up, and with his other hand folded his computer into briefcase form before picking it up. “Course, the best way ta know is fer us ta test it.”

Dan scooped up another probe, and Stan grabbed the third, before they began to troop towards the stairs.

Before Ford could get too close, Dan’s giant hand pulled him back.

“Read the sign, dork. I put it up for a reason.”

“Yeah, I know.” Ford sighed and waited until both Ford Prime and Shermie had started up and the lumberjack released him before he began to walk again.

Ford Prime was practically bounding up the stairs, looking too elated to worry about things like potentially falling and breaking his ankle, or neck, or something else vitally important. It was the first time since he came here that he looked genuinely happy.

“Do I act like that when I’m excited?” Ford murmured softly as he watched his counterpart try to leap two steps at once and have to be caught by Shermie.

“Yes,” Fiddleford and Dan said at the same time and in pretty much the same deadpan tone.

Ford glared at them. “I was being rhetorical.”

“And we were bein’ honest.”

Fiddleford offered Dan a high-five, which he nearly knocked the smaller man over reciprocating.

The group burst out of the secret entrance like clowns exiting one of those tiny circus cars, except with less white makeup and loud calliope music.

“Do we wanna get food or anything?” Shermie asked. "We were down there for a while, I'm kinda hungry."

“No time!” both Fords said at once.

For once, Stan agreed. “We are  _ this close _ ta gettin’ FP home! We can eat later!” He led the way to the front door, which was open for some reason-and skidded to a halt.

“Stanley?” Ford Prime went to his side. “What’s the mat-”

And he stopped in almost the same fashion.

A pool of cold dread began to rise in Ford’s gut. He went to Stan’s opposite side, and opened the door all the way so the others could see what they were seeing.

Auldman Northwest was standing in their yard, wearing an all too familiar, far too wide grin. Next to him was Rebecca, who was clutching Xander in her arms; both of them looked pale and frightened, and had faces stained with tears.

In Mr. Northwest’s (except that it wasn’t him in there, not anymore) hands was a large rifle, whose barrel he was pressing against the side of Rebecca’s head.

“Hi, fellas!” he called out, in a high nasal voice. “Ya wanna come out and have a little private powwow with me? I think there’s some things we all needa discuss!”


	15. Ford does something crazy (surprising...well, I'll let you people judge for yourselves how surprising it is)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno about you, but I kinda like the idea of Rebecca looking like an animated version of Shaw from Person of Interest (Sarah Shahi, if you'd rather know the actress's name).  
> Just a random thought.

Despite his strength, Dan just  _ barely _ managed to stop Shermie from charging out the door. In fact, he was finally forced to just kick his legs out from under him and then pin him, and even  _ then _ the oldest Pines was still struggling furiously to get up and dash headlong into battle.

“Shermie, knock it off!” Stan slammed the door, then rushed over and knelt on one of his brother’s arms so he’d stop flailing it. “If you go runnin’ out there and try ta fight him he’s probably just gonna kill ‘em!”

...Maybe not the most tactful way of putting it, but it was the first thing that popped into his head.

Shermie let out a choked sound, and his eyes flooded with tears (almost as horrifying a sight as seeing Bill here), but he stopped thrashing.

Stan squeezed his big brother’s shoulder, and then looked at his twin.

“What’s the plan?”

Ford stammered for a second, and then said, “I-I don’t-I need to think.”

Stan looked to the other one for input.

Unfortunately, Ford Prime seemed to be in no condition to be coming up with any kind of ingenious plan to stop Bill before he could hurt Rebecca or Xander. In fact...he looked like he was having a full-on panic attack.

All the blood had drained from his face, which was bathed in sweat, and he’d staggered back into the wall, with one hand clamped over his mouth. Even from where he was crouching, Stan could hear his alternative twin’s breath coming in frightened, gasping wheezes, and see how hard he was trembling; quickly he got off Shermie and hurried over to stand in front of him.

“FP? Hey, can you hear me?”

Ford Prime’s eyes darted in his direction; they were already looking as bloodshot and frightened as they were when he first came here.

Slowly Stan raised his hands, making sure he could see both of them, and gently touched his shoulders. Ford Prime startled, but didn’t try to shake him off.

“Is this okay?”

A small jerk of the chin up and down.

Stan squeezed his shoulders, and then, without really thinking about it, pulled Ford Prime in against him.

It was hardly the time to be noticing it, but...despite their differences, he felt just like his brother. Basically the same shape and size, with the same way of burying his forehead in Stan’s shoulder. And just like his Ford, putting one arm around his shoulders like  _ this _ , and then making circles in his hair with his other hand like  _ this _ , did wonders for slowing down his trembling.

“It’s okay, Poindexter-” the nickname slipped out automatically, but was met without protest- “we’re not gonna let him hurt you. We’re not gonna let him in your head either. You don’t haveta go out there-”

“Hey, what’s the holdup!” Bill called. “C’mon, Fordsie, I know both of you are in there! Time’s a-wastin’!”

Ford flinched. “Sounds like we do.”

“Nuh-uh!” Stan wracked his brain. “Maybe-maybe we can just switch clothes and I can go out-”

“There’s no way he’s dumb enough to fall for that!” Ford Prime snapped, jerking his head up. “Besides, it’s not worth risking your life again!”

Stan froze.

_ D_mmit, Ford. _

“...again?” Dan demanded.

“That’s not important right now!” Stan said quickly. “We needa-”

Before he could say what they needed to do, the group of men nearly jumped out of their skins at the deafening roar of a shotgun blast.

Shermie let out an anguished cry, and rushed to the door, yanking it open.

Stan let out a sigh of relief; Rebecca and Xander were still alive, thank all that was holy, but looking even more terrified than before. Bill lowered the rifle from where he’d been pointing it at the sky, and pressed it back against Rebecca’s skull with a grin.

“Just needed ta make sure you were still there!” he called. “Now are you gonna get out here or what?”

Unwillingly the group-Stan, both Fords, Dan, Shermie and Fiddleford-stepped out onto the porch.

* * *

“Well, aren’t all of  _ you  _ a sight for sore eye-wait, sorry, I mean  _ eyes _ ! I got two of them now, isn’t that neat?” Bill closed first one eye, then the other, maybe so he could admire the difference in depth perception, maybe just to be irritating; it seemed like it could kind of go either way with him. “Six-Fingers, other Six-Fingers, Specs,  _ Stanley _ -” He sent a glare of pure hatred at Stan upon saying his name, before quickly swiveling away to grin at Dan. “Hey, lumberjack guy! You wanna know the exact date and time of your girlfriend’s death?”

Dan growled, and looked like he was just  _ seconds _ away from forgetting about his fists for once and just tearing Bill’s throat open with his teeth. Shermie had a similar expression, except that his eyes were fixed on his wife and child.

“Awww, ya sure? It’s a real doozy of a story! After she realizes she can’t-”

“Still can’t get ta the point, can ya, Bill?” Stan asked with the type of bored yawn he reserved specifically for people he wanted to infuriate.

Bill glared at him. “Y’know, I am gonna have  _ so _ much fun making you wish I would hurry up and put you outta your misery.”

Xander buried his face in Rebecca’s shoulder with a frightened whimper.

“But, you’re right, I digress. I want the exact same thing that you people want! I want you ta send Stanford home-after ya let me go through first!”

He gestured towards the bottomless pit; as they glanced in that direction, Stan noticed that for some reason that Preston twerp was lying on the ground nearby next to his baseball bat.

_ What the heck happened out here? _

Bill was, unfortunately, still talking. “At first, I was  _ real  _ disappointed when your little interference meant that the portal sent him here, instead of my realm like it was  _ SUPPOSED _ to!”

Out of the corner of his eye Stan saw Ford Prime tremble, just the tiniest bit; he’d managed to lock away all his terror before they left the house, but clearly just the idea of being in the triangle’s clutches was enough to break through his composure again.

“But then I realized, hey, this was actually  _ great _ for me! Because you know what? This means I don’t have just access to  _ his _ dimension-I get two dimensions for the price of one!” Bill cackled, long and loud. “If you charge it up the right amount on your side, it’ll be enough to power through all the damage that was done to the portal during his little spat with the other Stanley, and make it so my buddies and me can come in and get this party STARTED!”

You didn’t have to be a genius to know that this wasn’t the kind of party you wanted to get invited to.

“...My buddies and  _ I _ .”

Stan couldn’t help it; he flat-out slapped his forehead.

“That’s literally what I just said.” Bill looked somewhere between confused and just plain annoyed with Ford’s interruption. Speak of the devil, the nerd seemed a little horrified with himself for being critical of someone else's grammar at a time like this, even as his mouth continued talking without his apparent consent.

“No, you said ‘me.’ Grammatically speaking-”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter! My POINT is, either you losers are gonna let me go first when you get that portal open-” he gestured with the rifle- “or you’re gonna watch me create two new pieces of abstract art to decorate the lawn!”

Rebecca was trembling; she was trying her hardest to be strong, but Stan could see her trembling, and drawing blood with how hard she was biting down on her lower lip.

_ Think, think think think, keep him talking, he loves ta talk, especially when he thinks he’s won, hopefully that'll give ya time ta think of something _

“...What’s gonna stop you from just killing them anyway, after ya get what ya want?” Stan asked, finally finding his voice again.

Bill sighed. “You always assume the worst of me, don’t you, Stanley?”

“Yup. Especially cuz I’m usually right.” Could he summon the gnomes, maybe after pretending to agree to Bill's demands? No, they were still mad at him. Mole people? No, the whistle was still in the basement somewhere. Janet? Could she maybe leave her realm-

“Okay, ya got me. You  _ don’t _ know that I won’t kill them anyway, or rip their eyes out and replace ‘em with extra mouths, or just turn them inta statues that’ll be decorations  _ for my new throne room! _ ” Bill took a deep, calming breath that was probably more for show than for any intention of calming himself. “But you wanna know the one thing that  _ is  _ certain? That if you  _ don’t _ get cracking, you’re gonna watch me kill them right in front of you, right here, right  _ now _ !”

And he started to lift the rifle again-

“NO!”

Shermie leaped off the porch; without thinking about it, so had Stan-and so had both Fords.

Stan wasn’t sure what any of them were planning on doing, but he didn’t have time to wonder about it, because Bill suddenly lowered the rifle and cried out in alarm, “Hey, watch it! Don’t get so close to each other, you idiots!”

Stan saw that Ford and Ford Prime really were almost close enough to touch; hurriedly he grabbed the nearest one-Ford Prime, he realized-and pulled him around to his other side.

And then Ford’s expression changed.

A few seconds before, it had been set in a mask of blind panic; now, it developed into something far more...resolute.

“Why, Bill? What will happen if I and my counterpart make contact?” He tilted his head. “I was under the impression that if we did, it would disintegrate one or both of us-”

“Disintegrate  _ you _ ?!” Bill squawked. “It would disintegrate this whole  _ dimension _ ! There’d be nothing left!”

“So if we touch, it will destroy this dimension-and you in the process, unless you can somehow get away fast enough?” Ford stepped closer to Stan, and his counterpart, who both stared at him with wide eyes. “You know what? I think I’m okay with that.”

“Whoa, STOP!” Bill waved a frantic hand at him. Letting go of part of the rifle.

Seizing her chance, Rebecca set Xander on the ground and told him frantically, “Run to Daddy!” Then, without missing a beat, she shoved the barrel of the rifle downwards, and started fighting him for it.

It was like pressing a button that broke down the barriers holding the others back. Shermie lunged forward and scooped Xander into his arms, pulling him out of danger. Dan leaped off the porch with an infuriated roar. The three other Pines men charged forward, ready to offer assistance in the brawl (and, God willing, not get shot in the melee). Stan already had his brass knuckles on, more than happy to punch this jerk back into whatever dimension he was from-

Auldman Northwest, despite being a rich jerk not quite in the prime of his youth, clearly kept himself in more or less good physical shape, because Rebecca was struggling to get the upper hand against the demon inhabiting his body. She was hitting and kicking him, but he kept rolling with the punches like they were nothing-worse, he was actually  _ laughing _ about them, like he was enjoying the pain or something.

Stan started to circle around, with the intent of jumping on his back; he’d see if Bill could handle flat-out not being able to  _ breathe _ -

Seconds later Rebecca had been shoved away, and Stan was nearly going cross-eyed staring down the barrel of the gun.

It wasn't the first time he'd come this close to being shot...but it hadn't been for a long time. And the stakes had never, _ever_ been this high.

Stan froze.

Bill’s triumphant voice seemed to be echoing from the end of a long tunnel; he barely managed to look away from the rifle towards the source of the smugness, who was grinning gleefully at his brother-both of him-and make himself focus on the words being said.

“Y’know, Stanford, I think you’re just bluffing. Because Stanley here’s the _real_ destructive one; you’re good at talkin’ the talk, but if it  comes down to it and the lives of your whole family are on the line, you’ll happily sacrifice the world if it means-”

Ford reached out and grabbed Ford Prime’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I'm wondering how long I should wait before posting the next part, just to see how crazy I can drive everyone making them wonder what the heck just happened-  
> *Awkward cough*  
> ...Again, please don't kill me.
> 
> *Shrinks down behind protective barriers in undisclosed location*


	16. This chapter does not end on a cliffhanger, I promise

Multiple things happened in the same moment.

Mr. Northwest’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed backwards onto the grass.

Fiddleford’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he also collapsed, though in his case it was onto the porch, and it was from fainting dead away rather than a dream demon exiting his body.

Rebecca screamed.

Dan bellowed.

Deep in the forest, a gnome looked up in confusion at the noise, before he resumed sneaking up on a butterfly.

And, just barely before the two Fords’ hands actually came into contact, a faint golden light appeared; it engulfed Ford’s hand, and within seconds it had covered his entire body like a second skin, as a strange, ethereal voice chimed, “PROXIMITY ALERT.”

It took everyone a minute to realize that the world was still there, and they were still in it. Ford finally let go of his counterpart, and smiled sheepishly, before rolling up his sleeve enough for them to see the metallic cuff wrapped around his wrist. It had a few runes carved into it, and as they watched the glowing golden light retracted until it was encircling the cuff.

“Turns out I needed to use a little magic to get it finished,” he said.

Shermie’s mouth flapped in a (probably) accidental impression of a goldfish. “You-you-”

Ford Prime gaped at him in what was probably a similar fashion, as he felt his heart finally restart.

Everyone jumped when Stan burst out laughing.

He eventually had to sit down, he was cackling so hard, clutching his ribs with one hand as he wheezed and choked on his own amusement.

“You  _ hustled _ him!” he finally managed to get out. “You hustled him  _ good _ !”

Ford leaned down and gave him a hand up. “Honestly, I was just thinking like you. I asked myself, if I were Stan, what would I do, and the most insane, suicidal idea ever was the first thing that popped into my head, so I just went with that.”

Stan laughed again. Then, a little more seriously, he said, “Of course, when I’m done bein’ elated that we survived that I’m probably gonna  _ kill _ you-” he lightly dope-slapped the back of his brother’s head- “but that was still pretty awesome!”

“I’m already done being elated,” Dan growled.

Before he could kill Ford, however, Auldman Northwest opened his eyes and began trying to sit up.

“I-ugh-what the devil-”

He was halfway there when Shermie, who had set Xander down, marched over and grabbed him by his necktie, before he knocked him flat again with a sucker punch to the face.

“Um, I don’t think Bill’s possessing him anymore, Shermie,” Ford Prime felt obligated to point out, as satisfying as it was to watch.

“He let that [CENSORED] possess him and threaten to kill my family,” Shermie retorted.

“Good point.”

“We don’t know if Bill’s figured out that we tricked him yet,” Ford said after a second. “If he has we should probably-”

“Yeah. Right.” Dan picked up the prone body of Mr. Northwest and slung him over his shoulder. “We better tie him up just in case Bill comes back.” He headed back to the house.

“...Let’s hope he doesn’t wake up,” Ford Prime muttered as he followed him. Idly he wondered how much extra jail time you could get in Gravity Falls for kidnapping the descendant of the town’s so-called founder.

Ford Prime noticed that Stan hurried off in another direction; he came back carrying another limp body in his arms, which after a second he realized was the loathsome Northwest kid.

“What’s  _ he _ doing here?” he demanded, bristling just at the memory of his last encounter with the little brat.

“He tried to kidnap Xander for Bill,” said Rebecca. “I, um, might’ve broken his ribs. I’m not sure.”

Stan gingerly prodded the boy’s chest. He moaned, but didn’t seem in a hurry to regain consciousness. “...Yeah, it feels like there’s a few broken ones. Probably some cracked, too.” He gave his sister-in-law an approving nod. “Good hit.”

“...I actually-” Rebecca looked horrified. “I mean, yes, he tried to take my boy, but he-he’s still just a kid-”

_ He’s a Northwest. They’re basically the spawn of Satan. _

But even Ford Prime could acknowledge that the thought was more than a little harsh; he kept his mouth shut.

Fiddleford was just now regaining consciousness and sitting up; as soon as he set eyes on Ford, he staggered to his feet, looking like the world’s nerdiest stormcloud.

“STANFORD PINES YOU HORNSWOGGLED, CARPET-BAGGIN’ FLIBBERTIGIBBETIN’-”

“F,” Ford held up his hands, “I know I deserve the Southern-style cuss-out of the century-”

“YOU BET YER EVER-LOVIN’  _ LIFE  _ YA DO, YA IDJIT-”

“BUT YOU HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL LATER!” Ford yelled.

He took advantage of Fiddleford’s shocked outrage at being interrupted to say quickly, as he got closer, “We don’t know how much time we have before Bill realizes we tricked him, if he hasn’t already, so we need to cast the spell and get FP back home before that happens! Once we do that you can yell at me, or hit me with your banjo, or whatever it is you need to do, I promise.”

“...I’m holdin’ ya to that,” Fiddleford growled at last; he went inside and snatched up one of the mini-probes that had been dropped in the confusion.

* * *

They ended up just blindfolding both Northwests and tying them to a pair of chairs in the middle of the living room, neither of which could be knocked over or broken easily; even if Bill couldn’t possess either of them while they were inside the barrier, it wasn’t like they wanted them wandering free around the house either. Stan also loosely wrapped the boy’s chest, and they hoped that would be good enough until they could figure out a way to get him to the hospital.

Then, leaving Shermie and his family behind to guard their prisoners, they hurried back to the bottomless pit with all the probes and the monkey’s paw in hand.

Ford Prime’s heart was in his throat as the first mini-probe was tossed into the pit; Bill had seemed so certain that they’d be able to get the portal open again, which hopefully meant that Stan was still working on it.

But what if he’d given up?

What if it somehow served Bill’s purposes to fill him with false hope that he had a chance to go home?

What if he’d decided to try things from the other side? Stan wasn’t as easy to fool as he was, but what if Bill figured out the words he needed to persuade him into making a deal?

What if what if what if what if what if-

The mini-probe was already sending video feed to Fiddleford’s computer.

A few flashes of lightning, and then darkness.

“Next probe!” Fiddleford called.

It was duly tossed in, and the mechanic typed frantically away at his keyboard.

“Here.” Ford Prime suddenly found a large leather satchel being pushed into his arms. He lifted a corner, and saw a flash of long, rainbow-colored hair.

“So you can block out the three-sided jerk when ya get back,” Stan explained.

Ford Prime managed a smile as he pulled the satchel over his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“I don’t think we’ve got time ta send in the third test probe!” Fiddleford said, a little frantically. “The flashes are happenin’ a little less frequently this time ‘round! It’s probably now or never!”

The others looked to the two Fords, eyes wide and anxious.

The older one hesitated...and then nodded.

“Do it.”

The main probe was pushed into the hole, and the monkey’s paw hurled in after it, literally crackling with magic after the amount of spells they’d cast.

Even though he knew the right place to look was at the computer, where the data was, Ford Prime watched the pit as the items were whisked out of sight by the overlap of darkness.

The other Ford and Stan stood next to him; even with the proximity shield, Stan still stood in between them.

“...This is probably the last time we’re ever gonna see you, isn’t it?” he asked.

“If all goes well,” Ford Prime said with a small nod. “But hey, I imagine that will be a bit of a relief for you two, won’t it?”

“Oh, c’mon.” Stan gave him a more friendly arm punch this time. “You were all right after we got a few things cleared up.” He glanced at Ford. “Right?”

Ford coughed awkwardly, and adjusted his shirt collar.

“ _ Right _ , Poindexter?” Stan elbowed him in the ribs.

“Yes, talking and comparing notes with you was enjoyable,” Ford admitted, rubbing the area. “And it was...educational.”

“Meaning you learned just how deeply you could have screwed up your life without Stanley by your side?”

“...No.” You didn’t need to see how Ford’s ears reddened to know that he was lying.

“It’s okay. I know that I’ve made mistakes. And…” he hoped it wasn’t too schmaltzy a thing to say, “if I’m allowed the chance, I fully intend to make things right as much as I can.”

Stan swallowed a little, and then gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Atta nerd.”

There was a sudden cacophony from the bottomless pit. Ford Prime lurched forwards, and peered into the blackness-in time to see a circle of blue-white energy, surrounded by lightning, waiting for him.

“It’s ready!” Fiddleford yelled, even though they were all right there and could hear him. “If you’re gonna go, now’s the time!”

Ford Prime wished he’d thought to say goodbye to Shermie and Rebecca and Xander before coming out here. He wished he had time to run back to the house and say it to them now. All he could do, however, was reach out to his other self and this dimension’s twin, taking one of their hands each (and feeling infinitely grateful that the proximity shield was still working like a charm), and squeezing tightly. He nodded to Dan and Fiddleford-and then turned.

This time, he wasn’t pushed into the portal.

But he didn’t fall in either.

He gathered his courage…

* * *

...And leaped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But wait! There's more!
> 
> ...It's not the same as a cliffhanger, okay? It just means there's more story to tell.  
> I mean, it doesn't necessarily end on impending disaster, so that's totally different from a cliffhanger, right?
> 
> ...Right?


	17. Fortune finally smiles on Stan Pines Prime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter has some pretty dark thoughts at the beginning, because Stan is a very unhappy boy.

Stanley didn’t know what day it was.

He didn’t even know if it was day or night.

He didn’t even know if he was following the instructions in the journal correctly, or if he would ever find the other journals that Ford had mentioned hiding when he gave him this one, or if Ford was even alive or dead or trapped in some kind of stasis or whatever.

All he knew was that his brother had been dragged into some kind of freaky light thing while screaming for help, and it was all his fault, and he needed to get this thing fixed so he could bring him home.

He felt a little too hot and too cold at the same time, and his skin was tingling; great, that probably meant the burn mark on his back had gotten infected. There was a chance it was only going to get worse, since the house had virtually no food, and he was barely taking the time to eat or sleep or take care of the injury.

_Doesn’t matter. Gotta get it ta work._

_Get it ta work._

_Get it ta work._

_Get it ta work._

Stan stared at the section of the journal again. The blueprints and equations and cryptic coded messages were all so complicated-why the [CENSORED] did Ford have to make everything so stinkin’ complicated?!

Trying to read through them made his head throb-or maybe it was just the fever.

Stan tried to remember if he’d already taken some of the painkillers that he’d found in Ford’s bathroom; if so, they were taking forever to work.

_If you did, does it really matter if you take a few more?_

_It’ll make the pain stop. Forever._

_You can just go to sleep..._

_No! Ford needs me!_

Stan shook his head, forcing the thoughts away, and went back to work.

* * *

Occasionally he managed to get a few sparks out of the thing, just for a second or three; he tried not to get his hopes up about it, since they always died away as quickly as they rose up, but every time the machine stopped working again he felt just as crushed by disappointment.

So when the portal started hissing and sparking and full-out glowing the next time he pulled the lever, Stan told himself he was just a little closer to getting it right, and that it would stop any second.

And then, as the glowing circle got bigger and brighter, Stan wondered if the infection was making him hallucinate.

He wasn’t too sure how much of what he was experiencing was reality and how much of it fever dreams anymore. Like that dream he’d had earlier, about some kind of weird pyramid in a top hat who’d tried to talk to him about something. He could barely remember the dream, except that he hadn’t trusted whatever that thing was, and he’d just ended up ignoring it and walking away seconds before he woke up. But he had to admit, in a weird way it had seemed very real compared to his other dreams…

The circle of light was still there.

Not only that, but Stan thought he could see a small black dot in the center of it, growing bigger and bigger as he stared at it.

_...This is nicer than most of my dreams-_

He just barely moved out of the way in time to avoid being flattened when something big and heavy came flying out of the portal and landed sprawled on the floor. Seconds later, the unearthly light died away.

For a few seconds all Stan could do was stare, petrified.

The figure moaned and muttered, “...Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea,” before lifting his head.

He gasped when he saw Stan. “Stanley!”

He staggered upwards, letting a bag of some kind drop from his shoulder, and hurried to Stan, grabbing his shoulders in a way that for once felt incredibly solid and real.

“Stanley, you-you crazy knucklehead, you did it! You really, actually-”

And he was saying something else, but Stan could barely hear it over the sudden ringing in his ears, and he could barely make out the brown eyes staring into his over the colored spots that were starting to swirl in front of his vision…

_Please don’t be a dream._

* * *

“Stanley? Stan! Wake up!”

The man formerly known as Ford Prime shook Stan gently, even as he struggled to stop him from collapsing like an accordion. He realized, as he was at last forced to gather his brother into his arms, that he felt unusually warm, and his bangs were drenched with sweat-

Wait.

Ford managed to reach up and rest one hand against his twin’s forehead.

_Holy Moses…_

“Stanley, you’re burning up!”

_Gasp, you’re a genius, Captain Obvious!_

Stan should have said that; instead, he continued to droop insensibly against him.

With no other options available, Ford began doing his best to carry his brother upstairs, barely thinking to grab the satchel of unicorn hair first.

It took a while, since Stan was pretty much dead weight in his arms and it had been ages since he’d done any amount of heavy lifting, but at last they made it to the first floor of the house.

Ford was torn as to what he should do first-take care of his brother, or brave the freezing winter weather to put up the barrier around the house. Because on the one hand, it would be safe to ensure as soon as he could that Bill would be unable to access either of their minds, or any rifts that might have sprung up from the portal being used again in such unstable circumstances; on the other hand, Stan was unconscious and feverish, and he didn’t know what type of medical care his twin had given himself or why he was even sick or the extent of his illness-

At last Ford just brought Stan into the spare room. There was already a blanket lying on the couch, so he laid him down on his back-which he instantly regretted at the pained hissing noise his brother made, while arching his shoulders.

_The burn mark. Of course. It must have gotten infected; that’s why he’s feverish._

Ford’s throat went tighter than he could remember it being in a long time; he swallowed, and turned his brother until he was on his side before covering him with the blanket.

As he did, Stan’s eyes flickered open again; they blinked, looking very dilated and glassy, before finally settling on his face.

“...S’x’r?”

“It’s me, Stanley.” Ford had to hold down a small thrill of excitement rising in his chest, as it really settled in that despite the unfortunate circumstances, he was back home, in his own dimension, with his own brother at last.

The corner of Stan’s mouth curled up into a goofy, warm smile. “You’re real?”

“Very real.” Ford smiled back as best he could. Then he swallowed again, reminded himself that there was time for this later. “I have to go take care of something, okay?” He started to straighten up.

That was a mistake; instantly Stan’s hands latched onto his arm in a death grip, and he actually began trying to pull himself up.

“No! I just got you back, I’m sorry I screwed up, don’t leave-!”

“I’m not leaving, I just have to do something-” He tried ineffectively to pull free, which only sent Stan into deeper panic; he started flat-out hyperventilating, and clawed at Ford’s coat (was it actually his, or did it belong to his counterpart? He wasn’t even sure) with frantic fingers.

“Please-please-please-”

“Stanley! Listen to me!” At last Ford was forced to kneel all the way back down and grab his brother’s hands into both of his. “I promise I will explain everything to you, but right now I have to go put a protective spell around the house. As soon as I am done with that, I will come back to you. I’m not going to leave you again, all right? There are a lot of things that we need to talk about, and you also need someone to look after you because you seem like you’re about to keel over dead any second. I promise, I will be right back.”

He wasn’t sure how much of his speech Stan was capable of understanding in his current state, but it seemed to be enough for him to collapse back into the sofa.

Ford tucked the blanket back around him, and then snatched up the satchel and hurried out.

He set up the protection spell as quickly as he could, grateful that the other Stan had thought to include mercury and moonstone along with the hair, and that there were still plenty of all of them leftover afterwards. Ford barely noticed the cold, and just tramped through the snow around the house until the last piece of hair was set in place and the dome briefly sprang up. Once that was done, he rushed back inside.

Stan had sat up, and by now was struggling his way towards standing.

_Stubborn knucklehead._

At least one thing seemed to be consistent no matter what dimension he was in.

On the other hand, it was probably just as well, since he now had time to give him a thorough check-up (at least as thorough as someone without a medical license was capable of giving).

When Ford came in and started towards him, Stan’s glassy eyes fixed on him at once, and some of the tension went out of his shoulders.

“You’re still here,” he whispered in slightly slurred tones.

“I told you I’d come back.” Ford tried to ignore the way his stomach twisted, and the voice in the back of his head that whispered, _Of course he didn’t believe you; when was the last time you gave him any hope that you gave a d_mn about him?_ He went to his side and put a hand to his forehead again. Stan immediately leaned into it, clearly revelling in how chilly his fingers were from the cold.

Ford considered just going to the bathroom to dig out his medical kit and grab what he thought he needed to treat the infection...but considering how Stan had reacted last time he left him he decided that was too much of a fight to have twice in one day. So instead he lifted Stan’s arm and wrapped it around his own shoulders, before putting his own arm around Stan’s (thinner than he remembered) waist and lifting him up.

“Let’s get you fixed up, Stanley.”

* * *

Of course, there would be a need for talking in the future.

Lots of talking, and confessions, and probably a great deal of arguing and shouting and hurt to be laid bare, as painful as it would be for both of them.

There would be worries about paying extensive electricity and mortgage bills, and paying for things like food which he hadn't been thinking about the last time he was here.

There was also the very high priority worry about whether Bill would try to strike again unless he could dismantle the portal, and he would definitely need to take another shot at finding Fiddleford and seeing if there was any way he could make amends for how he had mistreated him.

But for now, Ford decided to focus on the baby step of taking care of his brother and nursing him back to health.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? I'm capable of ending chapters without cliffhangers. So there.
> 
> There's at least one more to go, so don't go away just yet.


	18. Another stalemate is reached

They stared at the darkened pit for a few minutes after the light vanished.

“...Do ya think it worked?” Stan asked.

“Sure seems like it.” Fiddleford tapped at his computer, squinting at the screen. “I’m 95% sure it did.”

“That other 5% is not overly reassuring,” Ford said.

“According ta this, it shoulda worked. But it’s kinda hard ta tell now that the link between their dimension and ours has closed up. Think we’re gonna haveta just assume that he’s okay.”

Ford looked frustrated at not being able to get a definite yes or no on whether his counterpart was safely back in his dimension...but he realized that it was all they were able to get right now.

“Well, now that that’s taken care of,” Fiddleford stood up and closed his computer with a crisp _snap_ , “I got a new assignment.”

And he snatched up his banjo, which nobody had even realized was included with his equipment, and brought it down with a resounding _crash_ over Ford’s head, so he was stumbling dazedly while wearing it around his neck like a collar.

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT’S HOLY WERE YA THINKIN’, YA HARDHEADED GALOOT?!?!?! YA MADE US ALL THINK WE WERE GONNA _DIE_ , THE LEAST YA COULDA DONE WAS TELL US YOU’D FINISHED THAT THING-”

It was a good five minutes before he ran out of breath.

* * *

“There is a very strong possibility that we’re going to get arrested for this.”

Stan peered into the living room over his twin’s shoulder. Both Northwests still appeared to be out cold where they sat-either that or they were very good at faking it. He wouldn’t put the latter past them.

“Technically they’re the ones who came here and attacked _us_ ,” Shermie pointed out. “We could go to the police.”

“These jokers are the richest people in Gravity Falls. People like that always have the cops in their pockets,” Stan muttered scornfully.

“Unfortunately, Stanley’s right. Besides, I haven’t met the sheriff, but the deputy is not the most competent man in the world, so he’s probably not much better. I doubt we can count on either of them to help us. Besides, a lot of this situation might be kind of difficult to explain. Or prove.”

“...Nothing you two get involved in is ever going to be solved by going to the police, is it?”

“Nope, probably not.”

“So what are we gonna do?” Rebecca demanded. “The kid at least _needs_ to go to the hospital as soon as possible!”

“Ssh!” Fiddleford hissed. “I think they’re waking up!”

Old Man was stirring, and Preston started to, but then moaned, probably due to the pain in his ribs.

Stan’s thoughts raced.

* * *

Old Man blinked and cursed when his blindfold was yanked off, and he glared up at his assailant: Stan, who was standing in front of him and just now removing the blindfold from his son’s eyes. He’d suggested that Ford and the others stay back and avoid being incriminated, but they had joined him in the living room anyway.

The Northwest patriarch’s cheek and part of his eye were sporting an impressive bruise, courtesy of Shermie; that, combined with his rumpled clothing, detracted somewhat from his attempt at a haughty stare.

“You actually had the audacity to kidnap us, Pines? If so, this is a whole new low for you-” he began.

“Says the guy who made a deal with a demon.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“Little yellow triangle with one eye.”

Old Man made a disgruntled noise. “It was just a business transaction. Services exchanged for other services.”

“ _Services_?! Services like allowing that maniac to attack us and try to take over the world?! Services that included kidnapping my wife and son?!” Shermie demanded.

Stan couldn’t help flinching a little; it wasn’t often that his older brother lost his composure, but when he did, it was pretty scary.

“I didn’t want to!”

Surprisingly, it was Preston who spoke, in a high, trembly voice tinged with genuine pain.

“Be quiet!” Old Man Northwest snapped at him, but this time he didn’t seem to hear his father.

“He made me! He said if I didn’t, he’d kill Ingrid!”

“...Who’s Ingrid?” Ford asked.

“My _au pair_.”

“Your what?” Stan looked to his twin for translation.

“It’s basically a rich people’s nanny.”

“She’s not a nanny; I’m twelve.” Preston was only able to stir up a shadow of his regular petulance.

“Huh.” Hearing that the kid cared enough about a servant for Bill to threaten her life to force his compliance was...unexpected. It almost made him seem like an actual human being.

Old Man Northwest whipped his head around and snapped, “Preston! Not another word!”

This time his son wilted. And then he turned white, and looked about to pass out again.

Stan knelt down and untied him; he wasn’t gonna try anything, especially not in his current condition. Preston tried to get up, and instead curled in on himself, clutching at his chest.

“Careful; your ribs are broken.” Without thinking about it much Stan half-lifted him out of the chair, and guided him over to the couch so he could lie down. He was surprised at the level of gratitude in the boy’s eyes.

“So,” Ford said as he did that, “you let yourself be possessed by a demon, who blackmailed your son into kidnapping our nephew, and then threatened and attacked us. And you’re accusing _us_ of being low? I wonder what _that_ kind of knowledge would do to your family’s reputation.”

Old Man scoffed. “You’re assuming that _anyone_ would believe you.”

“We’ve got a lot of witnesses on our side.” Ford gestured to Fiddleford and Dan and Rebecca.

“It doesn’t matter how many ‘witnesses’” (you could hear the quotation marks in his voice) “you have! It’s still our word against yours!”

Stan put his hand in the pocket of his jeans. A few seconds later there was a whirring noise, and a click, followed by another click. Old Man’s voice sounded: _“You’re assuming that_ anyone _would believe you.”_

Stan grinned, and produced the tape recorder that had been sitting in his pocket.

“Actually, pretty sure it’s _your_ word against yours.”

He didn’t know why, but that sounded like a really great movie line for some reason.

Old Man turned red, and then white, with rage; it was kind of like watching an octopus being placed against different backgrounds or something.

“So here’s the deal, Northwest,” Ford said, after a moment to let the shock sink in, “we’re going to take you and your son to the hospital to get treatment for your injuries. And in return, you’re going to make up some kind of story for how you got hurt that doesn’t incriminate us in any way, and then just pretend none of this ever happened. You’re not going to summon Bill again, or take any kind of action against us, and in general you’re going to leave us alone. That includes Dan and his family.”

“And my girlfriend,” Dan growled.

“I was counting her as part of your family.”

Dan let out a pleased grunt.

“Otherwise, everyone in town is going to hear this recording about you apparently going insane and threatening to murder your son’s _au pair_ unless he helped you to attack our family. Is that clear?” Ford, who was clearly enjoying having the power in this situation a little too much, knelt down to be on Old Man’s eye level.

They stared at each other for a long moment; at last, though, Old Man said, in a tone that indicated he loathed Ford with every fiber of his being and would rejoice if he ever got the opportunity to tap dance on his grave, “Transparently.”

* * *

“Well, we have a tiger by the tail,” Ford said after Dan had taken the Northwests to the hospital.

Stan didn’t answer for a second; when he did, it was to say, “Huh? Oh. Yeah.”

Ford looked at him with a concerned frown. “Stanley? Are you all right?”

“Yeah, just...hopin’ the kid’s gonna be okay.”

Ford looked as shocked to hear it as he was to admit it, but after a moment he sighed and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Maybe we could-I dunno. Just feels like we should’ve...his dad’s a real piece of-” He barely remembered in time that Xander was there too- “work.”

“We could try siccing social services on him?” Ford suggested.

Stan scoffed. “They’re about as effective as cops.” And he lost himself in thought.

Ford turned to the other members of his family.

“...I’m sorry about all this.”

“You mean the fact that we all nearly died today?” Rebecca asked dryly.

Both twins flinched. “Yeah.”

She sighed, and ran her hands through her hair. “I admit, it’s not the kind of excitement I was expecting on this vacation. But...again, though your methods of dealing with the danger are completely crazy...they saved our lives.” She patted Ford’s shoulder. “It’s-it’ll _be_ okay, Ford. We’re not going anywhere.”

Xander hugged one of his legs.

Ford hoped this level of fortitude from all of them would last; now that he’d finally remembered how important family was, he didn’t think he could handle losing them again.

* * *

Emma-May was looking more well-rested than she’d been in a long time when Fiddleford and Dan came home that night.

“Tate took a nice long nap today, so I got time to do some reading, and ended up just takin’ one too,” she greeted her husband. However, her smile died away a little when she got a better look at him. “Hon? What’s the matter?”

Fiddleford was about to say “Nothing,” because the last thing he wanted was to scare her-however, he suddenly remembered Ford Prime’s advice. How he’d seemed to think it was so vital that he talk to someone about his fears.

He swallowed, and then said, “...That dream demon showed up, and Stanford tricked him inta thinkin’ he was gonna destroy our whole dimension ta make him go away.”

Emma-May blinked. "...That's not what I was expecting."

Fiddleford was a little hoarse from the cussing-out he’d given Ford earlier, but he ended up telling her everything that had happened.

“...and I was so sure that we were all gonna die, and I-I never even woulda got the chance ta see you or Tate again, and maybe it was the only way ta get ridda that monster, but-” He choked, and buried his face in his hand. “Everything woulda been gone, in just one awful moment. And all I could do was just-watch-”

“Oh, Fidds…”

After a second he felt her hand on his arm. He leaned into her touch with a sob.

Eventually Fiddleford felt a little calmer. He wiped his face on his sleeve, and took a few shuddering breaths.

“Sorry, I just-”

“It’s fine, you don’t needa apologize.” Emma-May pulled him into her arms. She was trembling a little, but her voice was steady. “You got every right ta be shaken up by somethin’ like that. In fact, when I’m done trying to process it I’m probably gonna be pretty shaken up too.” She squeezed him a little tighter.

Fiddleford buried his face in her shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered.

As horrible and traumatizing as the situation still was...he had to admit that telling his wife about it and being comforted by her made him feel a lot better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, in a burned-out, nightmarish realm that's starting to collapse in on itself, a familiar yellow triangle that we all love to hate materializes with an outraged scream.  
> One of his hench-maniacs, the one with the big keyhole in his head, approaches him with a hint of concern, or the closest thing to it that these creatures are capable of, and asks, "Hey, are you okay, Boss-aaaaaauuuuuggggghhhhmyface!!!!"  
> "WALK IT OFF!" Bill orders, lowering his finger and extinguishing the flames at the end of it. He storms past him into a private part of his realm, where he begins systematically destroying everything his eye lands on.
> 
> Eventually he runs out of steam somewhat, the fiery rage cooling to a dark sullenness. He sulks and mutters to himself for a little longer, and finally taps into another dimension where he has control over Stanford Pines.  
> He's a little more vindictive than usual when preying on the young man's insecurities, making him feel that nobody else will ever understand him the way Bill does, nobody else will ever care about him like he does. And he makes plans to tear Stan to pieces if he ever comes here. Which means of course that he'll have to speed up getting Ford to let him into his mind and finish up that portal...  
> ********  
> In the Prime Dimension, Ford sits by his sleeping brother, who's had his shoulder cleaned and bandaged, and been pumped full of antibiotics. He stirs and murmurs in his sleep occasionally, but Ford squeezing one of his hands seems to be enough to help him settle. As he sits with him, he reads the slip of paper that he found in the satchel along with the unicorn hair.  
> It's a note from that dimension's Stan, with a few useful tips. Things like suggesting that he ask the forest creatures to help him find someone named Janet who it'll be good for him and Stan to talk to, and a warning that if he happens to see any pale figures in black hoodies, don't go spying on them, because they're not vampires. And if they come after him, to keep an ample supply of warm milk and dreamcatchers woven from unicorn hair on hand.  
> He's a little apprehensive, and wonders what the devil his and Stan's counterparts got themselves into to acquire such knowledge...but he's sure he'll find out sooner or later. For now he's just glad to be home.


End file.
